


Whumptober at the DPD

by Rhinozilla



Series: Detroit 07 [27]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Connor Needs A Hug, Detroit Police Department (Detroit: Become Human), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Team as Family, Whump, Whumptober 2019, will add tags as we go along
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-11-22 11:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 53,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20873546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhinozilla/pseuds/Rhinozilla
Summary: 31 prompts of whump involving the squad at the Detroit Police Department.





	1. Shaky Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I'm starting out a day behind, but what else is new. I will try to update every day!
> 
> I'm using this challenge from tumblr: https://whumptober2019.tumblr.com/post/187356400823/october-approaches-and-so-does-whumptober-2019. A friend sent it to me, because she knows I can't say no to shit like this.
> 
> This scene has been sitting in my WIPs for forever, as a companion piece to my other fic "Gigglefit." This was my opportunity to finally post it.

Hank turned scrutinizing eyes on Connor.

“What about you, Connor?”

His partner blinked, seemingly coming out of a daze as he removed his hand from his terminal. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. What did you say?”

“Geez.” Hank leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “The whole bullpen has been going nuts all day with all the staff androids making the most of this emotional expression update, and you haven’t batted an eye. You okay?”

Connor’s expression was as even and collected as it always was. “Yes. I’ve just been focusing on this case and didn’t notice.”

“Yeah, it’s a doozy. Did you stop breathing?” Hank asked.

Connor blinked again and then obviously switched his breathing program back online.

“Sorry. Sometimes those nonessential functions are turned off when I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Huh,” Hank grunted. “Did you even install that new update? You aren’t acting any different, and, uh, it’s a different kind of day.”

The way Connor’s eyes narrowed and his irritated tone of voice shifted answered Hank more than his words did.

“Yes, I have installed the update, and it is currently running. I am the most advanced—“

“Prototype that Cyberlife ever released,” Hank parroted, knowing this song. “Yeah, we all know.”

“And yet you continue to underestimate my advanced capabilities,” Connor said sharply. “BECAUSE of the specific coding in my software and the adaptability functions in my programming, I am more adept at integrating these updates than older models. That includes emotional expression. Just because I am not—“ He gave an almost reckless gesture toward the more visibly emotional staff androids that were out of earshot. “Do not assume that I—“

“Jesus Christ,” Gavin groaned. “We get it; you’re the most special…”

“Do NOT interrupt me,” Connor snapped, abruptly standing from his chair and glaring daggers across the office.

The others milling around the office stilled, glancing over at the sound of Connor raising his voice and jumping up so suddenly. Gavin’s face was somewhere between smug at eliciting a reaction and a little startled that it had actually worked. Hank pushed his chair back a bit, preparing to stand.

“Connor…” he started.

Connor seemed to realize how many other officers had witnessed his reaction and were staring at him. Hank saw naked panic make a foreign appearance on Connor’s face. Before he could do anything, Connor was walking.

“Excuse me.” He quickly crossed the bullpen, any faster would have been a run.

Hank watched him disappear into the bathroom and briefly considered leaving him alone. He was familiar with the need to be alone during a moment of vulnerability like that. However, this was one of the first times that he had ever seen Connor visibly vulnerable and exposed like that. He didn’t want the kid weathering through that alone.

With that in mind, he slowly made in his way in his partner’s wake.

Nobody else in the office seemed to feel the same satisfaction that Gavin had obviously felt at cracking through Connor’s composure, and he had resorted to grumbling under his breath at the chill that they all sent in his direction. Tina, more directly, picked up the ruler on her desk and swatted him on the arm with it.

Hank ignored them as he reached the door to the men’s room. He knocked twice just as a formality before pushing the door open and slipping inside.

“Just me,” he greeted, letting the door swing closed after him.

Connor was standing in front of one of the mirrors, hands wrapped around the sides of the sink, head bowed, breathing slowly and heavily. His eyes were screwed shut, and the porcelain of the sink was groaning under his grip.

Hank didn’t say anything for a beat, sauntering over and folding his arms. He leaned against the wall near the mirror and gave Connor a moment to collect himself.

“Does Gavin usually bother you that much, and this update thing is finally letting you show it? Or is it something else?” he finally asked, keeping his eyes casually on the opposite wall.

Connor gave a deep sigh and lowered his head farther. One hand came away from the sink and covered his eyes.

“It’s fine.” His voice wobbled a bit, to match the shaking of his hands.

Hank frowned and straightened. “Obviously it’s not. What’s going on?”

“This case,” Connor conceded. “Something about it…It’s just…a lot today.”

Hank thought back to the most recent case that he and Connor had been assigned. An android had been found disassembled and drained dry of all thirium in an alley a few blocks from a red ice lab. There had been significant signs of struggle on the android’s hands and arms. He had fought back, had fought to escape and survive. The more valuable biocomponents in his chest had been removed and not recovered. They had already submitted the serial numbers to locate the synthetic organs in case they turned up.

With a sympathetic nod of his head, Hank kept his eyes away from Connor.

“I get it. It’s a rough case. They come along sometimes, sneak up on you, hit a little close to home. Doesn’t help when you’re already dealing with something new…like the ability to express emotions more,” he said gently.

“I’m fine.” He said it like he was trying to will it to be true.

“Uh huh, but it’s okay not to be.” Hank reached out and gave his shoulder a reassuring shake. “Just because—“ He registered how much Connor was trembling. “—Whoa, hey…”

Connor let go of the sink, forcing his posture straight and looking at Hank with wet eyes. “I’m the most advanced prot…I’m not supposed to be weak like this…I can’t become compromised by every c-case that…” His speech sped up as the panic set in again. “I’m supposed to be able to control…supposed to be better…”

Hank tightened his grip on Connor’s shoulder and yanked him closer. He pulled Connor into a hug, wrapping his arms around him tightly when he felt Connor’s knees wobble from the stress. Connor seemed to buckle against him, surrendering to the hug and burying his face against Hank’s shoulder. Hank lifted one hand up to the back of Connor’s head.

“You’re not weak, kid,” he assured. “It’s normal to feel like this. Hell, the day this job STOPS making you feel things is the day you need to quit the force.”

Connor made a half hearted noise, and Hank could feel him trying to lock down the tremors racking his body. Hank just held onto him more tightly, for as long as he needed, until the shaking finally tapered off.

“You’re okay. I gotcha, kid.”


	2. Explosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyberlife Tower is demolished in a controlled implosion. Connor isn't sure how to feel about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just whump a building?

If asked, Connor could have recited exactly how many months it took to construct Cyberlife Tower. How many months it took to design its infrastructure. How many miles of steel beams made up its skeleton. How many countries the company imported building materials from. How many men and women built it. How many rooms it had. How many elevators, hallways, stairwells, windows, and exits. He knew exactly how many square feet the entire building contained, from the tip of its top to the deep sublevels that burrowed into the belly of Belle Isle.

It had taken months…years…to design, to craft, to construct, and today, it was only going to take seconds to destroy all of it.

Cyberlife as a company had been dead for nearly a year, and the dark building…once a permanently lit and glittering jewel in Detroit’s skyline…had remained like a ghost. A private company had purchased the building and the surrounding property and immediately made plans for demolition. The last time Connor had stepped inside it, days before today, it had been a shell of its former glory. It had been stripped down of all material value, and deviants with sledgehammers had snuck inside, seeking their own vengeance against the building of their creators.

Now, standing on the roof of the police station, waiting for the controlled implosion to be detonated, he simply stared at the building in naked daylight.

“It’s a fuck ugly thing,” Hank chimed gently, walking up to stand beside him.

Connor kept his eyes forward, staring at the tower while it still stood, and tried not to look startled at Hank’s quiet approach. On the city streets below, particularly nearer to the shores overlooking Belle Isle, Detroit was gathering, coming to a standstill to watch as well. He could even see the mass of a crowd on the Isle itself, where Jericho had gathered, where Markus was surely making one of his speeches now.

“The city skyline will look better without it,” Hank tutted, waving a hand dismissively. “Maybe they’ll actually build something useful there next time.”

“Cyberlife was useful,” Conner remarked lowly, hands clasped behind his back and eyes remained forward. “It was the sole manufacturing company of all android life. Every android watching this now only exists because of it.” Behind his back, his hands tightened around each other. “I only exist because of that place.”

Beside him, Hank folded his arms and shifted from foot to foot as he glanced around. The other androids that made up the staff of their precinct had found their way up to the roof as well. Patrol androids, filing clerks, receptionists, janitorial staff, and some Hank didn’t recognize: they had gathered on one side of the station roof, at each other’s elbows, staring ahead with the same complicated expression that Connor was wearing. Two of the ST300 models that worked on the first floor, named Polly and Julia, stood on the fringe of the group, arm in arm for support.

On the other side of the roof, several of the humans who worked at the precinct were standing together as well…because humans liked to watch things get blown up.

And here stood Connor and Hank, somewhere in the middle between the two groups, but not quite close enough to either side to be considered ‘part’ of them.

“Feels like a damn wake up here,” Hank remarked, tugging the front of his jacket closed against the wind.

“Five minutes!” came a shout from the human side of the roof.

The other cops murmured briefly amongst themselves, anticipating the start of the show. The android side remained silent, though a few hands linked together, white plastic showing through skin as they interfaced…seeking comfort as the time neared.

“Sad to see it go?” Hank asked in an unassuming tone.

Connor’s eyes roamed up one side of the tower, lingering for a moment at the top before sliding down the other side.

“That is…a simplified way of putting it,” he slowly replied, tilting his head slightly to the side. “I was the last prototype ever released before it went under…I played a role in making it go under. In a way, I helped…kill my own creator. I don’t…regret the decisions that I made that put me on that path, but…there is a level of…some emotion that my programming cannot properly identify. In less than five minutes, that building will be destroyed…gone forever, and with it…my last tangible connection to my origination. At the same time, I am looking forward to a skyline where it doesn’t exist. I’m…conflicted.”

“Sounds like sentiment,” Hank suggested. “You can feel sad to see something go, while at the same time feel relief that it’ll be gone going forward.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does if you’re human,” Hank shrugged, leaning over and knocking his elbow against Connor’s arm. “And you’re acting more human every day.”

The side of Connor’s mouth quirked, finally cracking the stiff expression.

“If you’re going to insult me, then I’m going to leave.”

Hank snorted, facing ahead again. “Smart ass.”

Somebody called out the two minute mark, and Connor visibly fidgeted his fingers behind his back.

“I still think Kamski was compensating for something,” Hank said, picking up on his partner’s nerves. “Y’know…because it looks like a giant penis,” he overexplained.

“Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing, Hank,” Connor murmured.

“Enlighten me. What am I up to?” Hank drawled.

Connor gave a barely perceptible gesture, managing to draw Hank’s attention to the two divided groups on the roof.

“Humans. Androids. They’re learning to live around each other, to co-habitate. The social climate of Detroit is changing faster than everywhere else…That’s what Cyberlife’s presence here has given this city: a headstart on the paradigm shift of these two worlds.”

Connor paused, but Hank didn’t make a comment. He grimaced lightly before continuing.

“I don’t belong to either of those worlds. I was designed to hunt deviants…and I was good at it. Good enough to earn their hatred…and I didn’t have to do anything to earn humans’ hatred, that was just a given. So…I find myself alienated from both my own people and my old masters. Accepted by neither. That’s what Cyberlife gave me.”

“Connor…” Hank whispered, voice lost in the countdown.

“—three, two, ONE!” a few humans cheered.

Several blocks away, across the water, the explosives inside Cyberlife Tower detonated. Plumes of smoke burst out of designated floors at intervals up the length of the building, shattering windows and creating dark rings circling the tower. The rings erupted from the ground floor up in a series of controlled explosions. A ripple seemed to flow across the exterior of the building as its spine was broken.

A beat passed between the visual and the sound of the explosions reaching their rooftop. The wall of androids on Hank’s right shuddered as a group, while a few hoots and hollers burst out of the humans on his left. Directly beside him, Connor was silent.

The noise had barely faded when the tower began to sink. The building tipped at a slight angle as its internal structure buckled, causing it cave into itself. The smoke from the ground explosions flowed up as the rest of the tower came down, meeting in the middle. The brown smoke swallowed up the tower as it sank, and the thick clouds of it continued on, curling up into the sky.

The thud of the final impact reached the station, as the top chunk of the tower not eviscerated by the explosion crashed into its own footprint. There were a few cheers and hollers that echoed from nearby rooftop viewing parties, and the residual sound of it drifted into the noise of the tower ruins settling on top of itself.

And then it was over. Just like that.

In the wake of it, Detroit seemed to pause for a moment to stare at the hole in the skyline. On Connor’s left side, Hank watched the smoke undulate around itself as it bled up into the blue of the sky. On Connor’s right side, a hand brushed against his wrist.

Connor startled slightly and blinked, looking at the culprit. One of the ST300 androids, Julia, had taken a step away from the android group…just far enough to reach him. She was exactly arms’ length away still, as she touched her fingers against the back of his hand. The white plastic of her hand was exposed, and there was a timid invitation in her eyes to interface.

In the complicated emotional aftermath of watching the tower be destroyed, he helplessly allowed it. He was equal parts reluctant to open a channel to another android and eager to feel a connection, even brief, even just on the surface, to one of his people.

The warm rush of understanding and acceptance that flowed through the interface was unexpected, but so desperately welcome that it almost burned. He hadn’t shared an interface connection with another android since…since the revolution…that night in the basement of the tower, when he had woken up the androids stored there.

That basement no longer existed.

There it was again, that sad-yet-glad feeling that Hank called sentiment. Connor’s systems didn’t know what to do with it, how to react to it.

_I know,_ came her whisper across the interface. _Me too. All of us._

Connor involuntarily yanked away, breaking the connection. He slowed his movements too late, trying to cover up the knee jerk reaction, and he looked apologetically to the other android. Julia didn’t look offended; rather, she offered a wordless smile as she tucked her hand back into her pocket and rejoined Polly nearby.

On his other side, not taking notice of the brief interaction, Hank clapped a hand on Connor’s shoulder, still watching the smoky clouds drift over the water.

“Good riddance,” he remarked, giving Connor’s shoulder an affirming shake. “Hey, uh, just so you know…Cyberlife gave all of us a lot of grief, and none more so than you and the other androids. But…I gotta think that some good came out of all of it.”

Connor resisted the urge to roll his eyes, curling and uncurling his hand reflexively as his skin program covered his fingers again, recovering from the interface.

“Enlighten me,” he parroted Hank’s earlier words.

Hank shot him a grin. “We got you, didn’t we?”

Connor turned his head to stare at him for a moment. His expression softened.

“Sentiment,” he accused affectionately.

Hank snorted and let his arm settle around Connor’s shoulders, keeping a supporting hold on him. “Smart ass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay, I promise some actual physical whump starts after this. I just had to get this one out of my system.
> 
> For those reading my fic "Camaraderie," this chapter will fit in somewhere in the future of that fic. We haven't gotten to this yet, so consider this a sneak peak! XD


	3. Delirium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tina and Person take Connor home after repairs. This would be a lot easier if he wasn't still high off android-anesthesia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm trying to play catch-up since I'm already two days behind on this challenge. Life be like that sometimes. Will hopefully update again later today.
> 
> This was written as a prequel to Chapter 8 of my prompt series "Camaraderie," though this can be read as a standalone. However, if you like this one, check out that one for a continuation! ^_^

The technician had said that they could take Connor home as soon as he was able to move around on his own and maintain his balance, but at this rate, Tina’s whole day was going to get eaten up waiting for that to happen.

“Heyyy buddy,” Tina cooed lightly, standing beside the exam table where he was recuperating. “How you doing?”

Connor was lying on his back, shirt gone and with a cooling pad laid over the repair site on his midsection. Somewhere in the jargon beforehand, Connor had explained that it was a routine procedure to repair that…doohickey in his…what-cha-ma-callit…but that it was fairly invasive, and he’d be out of commission for the rest of the day.

At her greeting, Connor belatedly turned his head toward her, a slow smile crawling across his mouth as he recognized her standing there.

By the way his eyes were blinking out of sync and his delayed reaction to hearing her address him, Tina guessed that “out of commission” was some android code for “high as fucking balls.”

Behind Tina, Officer Person was talking to the technician. Sure, Hank had only asked Person to get Connor home since he was stuck at work, but given the state Connor was in at the moment, this clearly was going to be a two-person job. And, because this had all sounded hilarious to watch, Tina had volunteered to help.

So, while Person took notes on whatever the technician was telling her, Tina gave herself the mission of getting the delirious android up, off the table, and into the wheelchair, so they could get him out of here and back to Anderson’s house to rest. Fortunately, the facility had left his pants on, since the procedure only involved the area around his abdomen, so she only had to tackle a hoodie and shoes. Simple enough, right?

“Think we can sit you up?” Tina asked, enunciating clearly as she held out her hands.

Connor gave her a thumb up gesture without lifting his hand off the table at his side, and his LED cycled a plodding yellow as he struggled to focus.

“Nash kababble parswa tiki…tiki…” he mumbled.

What the…entire fuck?

Tina blinked and glanced back at the other two. “Was that any kind of language known to man?”

Both Person and the technician looked over, and the taller man adjusted his glasses.

“No, but this is a common side effect from the new android-specific anesthetic that we’ve been using. He thinks he’s speaking perfectly clear English. It will pass the longer he’s awake. We’ve found the best way to deal with it is to just…play along like you know what he’s saying.”

Tina lifted her eyebrows. “Ah.” She turned back toward Connor. “Okay, big guy, let’s see if we can get you to sit up, yeah?”

Connor stared at her, and there were absolutely no lights on upstairs. That didn’t appear to stop him, however, as he started moving his arms, in some uncoordinated attempt to try and sit up. Tina moved in closer, getting her hands around him so he wouldn’t fall back and bonk his head on the table.

“Here we go.” She steered him up and pulled his nearer arm across her shoulders when he started to sag backwards. “I gotcha. I gotcha.”

Connor teetered and leaned heavily against her. “Haggabala reema yute.”

“You don’t say?” Tina replied, keeping a hold of him.

“Narfoo klojaka…bubble.”

“Bubble?” Tina helped him turn, moving his legs so that he was sitting sideways on the bed, ready to stand up once he got his bearings.

Connor nodded very seriously, his stern expression undercut by how blown wide his pupils were.

Tina carefully moved out from under his arm, keeping a steadying hand on him as used her other hand to grab up his blue hoodie waiting in the wheelchair. He was pawing clumsily at the cooling pad still attached to his chest, and she carefully peeled it away, setting it on the table.

“Capparoonie,” he slurred, starting to tip sideways back toward the head of the table.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Tina grabbed onto him, tugging him back upright. “Stay.”

Connor swayed wildly, eyes on her, and he smirked, reaching up and touching her nose.

“Boop!” he chirped.

Tina melted a little and smiled. She couldn’t help it. Then she shook herself, swatting his hand away. “Okay, yes, you’re very cute, but enough of that. Hoodie time.”

He was perfectly pliant as she got the sweater over his head, though getting his arms through the sleeves was a chore that exhausted both of them. Eventually, Tina wiggled the hem of it down to his waist, and she looked him up and down to admire her handiwork.

“Tada, no more naked android,” she said, hands on her hips.

Connor leaned forward, corrected himself by leaning backward, and held up his hands to try and balance himself. “Tina—“

She grabbed his hands to keep him from toppling backwards. “Yes! Tina! I’m Tina!”

“Is he coming out of it?” Person asked, finished with the technician.

Connor looked brightly over at Person. “Tina!”

Tina grimaced. “Sort of?”

Person had a supply bag on her shoulder, and she stepped over as the technician moved around Tina to give Connor a final check. While the technician helped Connor stay upright, Tina grabbed his shoes and squatted down, sliding the sneakers onto his feet without bothering to untie them.

“Connor?” the technician was saying. “Can you follow my finger?”

“Mannaky walla dippy dip.”

Tina snorted as she stood up, replying with confidence, “Ting tang, walla walla bing bang?”

Connor snapped his fingers and looked at her, like he’d understood her perfectly. “Ah!”

Person facepalmed beside Tina before eying the technician. “Can we take him or not?”

The technician looked satisfied. “Yes, just remember what we discussed.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Person was sounding impatient, though she was trying to remain polite. “Got it.”

“Okay, he’s all yours.”

Tina and Person tagteamed getting Connor to stand up, turn around, and drop into the wheelchair so that they could wheel him out to the car. Somewhere between leaving the room and reaching Person’s car outside, Connor’s head managed to clear enough that he transitioned from spewing jibberish to just spewing…nonsense.

“Dodgeball potato candles…Wonder Woman.”

“All very good points, my dude,” Tina remarked as she opened the back door of Person’s car. She looked to Person, standing behind the wheelchair. “How do we do this?”

“Taxes!”

“Thank you, Connor…Person, how do we do this?”

Person eyed their situation. “Okay, um…You get in the back seat. I’ll get him up, and you guide him in.”

“So we’re just…docking him like a ship in port, huh?”

“You got any better ideas?”

Tina climbed into the backseat, scooting over and reaching out, ready to catch him when he inevitably just flopped into the car. Person, to her credit, managed to get Connor to stand up on his own two feet. To Connor’s credit, he was obviously trying his best to help, though he was getting frustrated by his body not doing what he was telling it to do.

Person awkwardly tried to coax him into bending to climb into the car, but her balance was quickly compromising under his weight, plus the foot of height that he had over her.

Tina gave up on helping for a moment just to enjoy the show.

“You look like you’re trying to wrestle a giant noodle, Person.”

“Not a…” Person huffed, trying to keep them both upright, “…inaccurate comparison. Can you just…grab him?!”

Tina chuckled and got a hold of Connor’s arm, tugging him down into the car. He came like a ton of bricks, landing in the seat, while his momentum had him careening into Tina’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” he garbled out, hands scrambling for purchase on anything he could reach. “There’s…” he made a loud noise of frustration, “…spinning.”

Person drew herself back, helping him stuff his legs into the car while Tina got him situated upright in the seat.

“You’re good,” Tina assured. “And you’re speaking words in any kind of order now. Progress, right?”

He stared at her hard in concentration, but he didn’t try to speak again. It looked like enough comprehension had finally returned that he was starting to feel some embarrassment. That was unacceptable. Tina fastened his seatbelt for him and patted his arm.

“Don’t worry, big guy. We’ll get you home, and you can sleep this off.”

“Pancakes.” He started, paused, shook his head and stared hard at her again. “Thank…you…Home?”

“Yeah,” Tina exchanged a look with Person, who nodded and closed the back door.

Tina stayed in the back seat to keep an eye on him while Person took the wheel. Then they were finally, mercifully, driving away from the facility. Connor slumped against the seat, worn out by the whole ordeal already, and his head tipped back in exhaustion. Tina patted his hand and then let her hand linger there in a way that she hoped conveyed some comfort.

“We’ll get you home, buddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick poll for everybody: would you all be more interested in 31 straight Connor-whump chapters? Or should I shake it up with some of the other DPD characters getting whumped on too? I'm down for either.


	4. Human Shield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a moment of terror, Connor discovers a sense of self preservation that he had never had use for before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second update of the day! I might try to squeeze out one more sometime tonight to get fully caught up. We'll see.
> 
> ALSO HEADS UP, this is tone whiplash from the previous chapter. There is no humor in this one. Just whump, angst, and canon-typical violence. 
> 
> Warning: this chapter has an active shooter situation in a bank.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

The sound of machine gunfire had faded as quickly as it had struck, filling the space with the kind of dead silence that made Connor’s audio processors strain. The world was a blind wall of blue tinted static across his vision, even though he knew that his eyes were still open. Red text was scrolling rapidly through the static, warning him of the damage.

One of the bullets had cut across the front of his face, shattering his nose and cutting deeply across his cheekbone before continuing on its trajectory toward its next victim…presumably the victim that was lying dead on top of him now.

The bank hadn’t exactly been full of people when the shooting started, but he had been standing close enough to this civilian…there hadn’t even been time to properly identify the elderly man. Connor hadn’t even seen his face…As soon as the shooting had started, the man had, seemingly on instinct, grabbed Connor’s arm and yanked him with him back behind one of the island counters on the bank’s open floor area.

In the span of only seconds, there had been screaming, and then the bullet had rendered Connor blind, and he could only hit the ground as the man pulled him behind the nearest option for shelter. Then the man had landed on top of him, Connor’s systems immediately picking up on the bullet wound to the human’s head… Two other reckless bullets had hit the man’s torso as he went down. He had been killed instantly…His last act had saved Connor’s life.

The screaming went silent with the gunfire, and in the aftermath, there was only the more mundane sound of footsteps, doors opening and closing, and murmuring voices from the shooters.

Mission Objective: Apprehend Shooters.

Without his sight, Connor’s other senses strained to compensate from his position on the floor. There were five definitive sets of footsteps…three different identifiable guns had been used…Connor had won altercations against worse odds, but then, he had not been damaged and blind. He couldn’t register any other life signs nearby…whether that meant more of his system had been compromised or that everyone around him was also dead…he couldn’t be sure, but he needed to act now if—

Warm blood from the body on top of him was soaking through Connor’s jacket, starting to stain his skin. It dripped from the dead man’s head onto Connor’s neck, rolling toward his jaw before reaching the floor, where a puddle was forming. One of the man’s hands was still wrapped around Connor’s elbow, fingers gone limp in the ghost of a grip.

Connor’s higher functions stalled as his system focused solely on those stimuli. To the exclusion of everything else, all he could think about in that moment was the blood slowly covering him and the weight of the body pressing him to the floor.

Mission Objective: Apprehend Shooters.

His programming insisted, but something else in his body rebelled, keeping him where he was.

He was outnumbered. Outgunned. Damaged. He would be killed. It was not a question. He WOULD be killed if he tried to take on the shooters before police arrived.

Police would arrive. He…he had managed to send out a call to dispatch before he hit the ground, hadn’t he? The white noise seemed to be spreading from his vision to other aspects of his programming, making it difficult to think…His skin felt like it was being pressed by a million pins and needles, burning where the blood was coating him.

The footsteps were returning. He had to act. He had to do something.

Mission Objective: Apprehend—

Something deep, something visceral and unnameable, locked up his systems, clawing up out of his chest and spreading like barbed wire through his limbs. It overrode his programming and flooded the thirium in his veins with ice.

MISSION OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE.

He latched onto the new mission objective with a desperation he’d never felt before, and in a split second, he had manually turned off his LED, forcing the ring to go dark. He left his ruined eyes open, though he stopped trying to focus them. Instead, he let them go blank and glazed, approximating a death stare. He willed all the tension out of his synthetic muscles, allowing his limbs to go limp, sagging more fully into the puddle of blood surrounding him.

In that split second, he gave in to the preconstruction path that told him that playing dead would give him the highest probability of surviving this moment, and he did his best to imitate a corpse as the footsteps came closer.

The proximity damage to his optical units had severed the connection that allowed him to process the images that they were recording…but he could only hope that they were in fact still recording. Maybe later that footage could be used to identify the shooters…Maybe this fear-fueled act that he was performing would do some good in the long run.

Fear…That was the unnameable something that had rendered him inert.

It pooled in a vise through his systems, spawning a secondary reaction that pumped hot through his circuitry. If he just stayed still, if he just did this, if he just played dead well enough, then he would make it. He’d be safe. He’d get to go home. He’d survive this.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He hadn’t been designed for…for self preservation. He was supposed to save humans…like this human who had given his life to save him…Connor hadn’t been able to protect him. This old man had reacted faster and more effectively than Connor, the cutting edge android prototype, had.

The shame of failure bled into the blue static, momentarily eclipsing the fear.

If this was all that he was good for…then what was the point of him?

The fear doubled back as more noise echoed into the room. Sirens, additional footsteps, more voices—some he recognized, some he didn’t—and a brief spatter of gunfire clouded his audio processors.

MISSION OBJECTIVE: SURV—

One set of footsteps drew close…too close…and klaxons blared through his brain for only Connor to hear, panic contributing to the paralysis.

“Oh God…Connor, oh God, oh please no…”

It took entirely too long for his system to recognize the voice as Hank’s, and even then, a combination of fear and panic caused his programming to leave all logic behind.

That wasn’t Hank, it told him. Somebody was impersonating Hank, trying to trick him into giving up the ruse…just so they could kill him for real.

“No, no, no…”

The voice came closer, and then the body on top of him was being gently removed, rolled away and placed carefully on the floor beside him. Hands moved under Connor’s back, hefting him up somewhat until he was leaning into a warm, living, breathing body. The arms held him close to a chest, and one hand cradled the back of his head with trembling fingers.

Hank.

“Hank…” Connor whispered, more desperate for it to be true than he was scared that it was a trick.

“Connor? Connor! Oh my God!”

The hands turned panicked, holding him away to look at him. With a groan, Connor let go of the manual overrides that had been maintaining his disguise as a corpse. His LED kicked back on, rapidly circling a terrified red that quickly turned yellow as he blinked, trying to force his eyes to work. Willpower couldn’t bypass the damage, and he remained blind to the world. In that moment though, that was okay, because he was alive…and Hank was here.

“Jesus Christ…Thank you, Jesus Christ…Connor?” Hank was saying, resting Connor’s upper body on Hank’s lap instead of the bloody floor.

“Hank…I—“ Connor’s voice was halting and shaking, and he tried to force stability into his vocal modulator. “I didn’t—I’m sorry—I didn’t—I c-can’t see…”

“Shh, shh, shh,” Hank whispered brokenly, running a hand soothingly through his hair a few times. “We’ll get you fixed up. Don’t worry. I gotcha. Just hang on, okay?”

“…Ok-okay…” A whimper escaped, and his ruined eyes began to leak tears. “H-he saved m-me…I c-couldn’t—“

“Shh,” Hank repeated, pulling him closer into his embrace. “I know, son. It’ll be okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

What little control Connor had left over his limbs tried to curl him into himself, his hands finding some of the fabric of Hank’s coat and grabbing onto him. Something inside him cracked open, and he turned his face into Hank’s shoulder, tears of fear and relief finally flowing free in earnest.

Hank held him tighter as the dam broke for them both. “You’re okay…I have you…You’re okay…”


	5. Gunpoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A damaged android reactivates at a crime scene and shoots when she sees the ‘Deviant Hunter.’ Now Ben has to de-escalate the situation and get to Connor before it’s too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand third update of the day! Whew, that means I am finally all caught up on this challenge. We'll be back to our regularly scheduled daily updates starting tomorrow.

Ben and his team had only just begun to process the crime scene of a red ice lab in the rundown house when they heard a single gunshot. Now the whole place was on lockdown, and Ben had tracked the gunshot to the old master bedroom. They had the building surrounded, and he had seen Gavin giving hand signals directing the other cops into position.

The master bedroom looked like it had served as the dumping zone for android bodies once they had been drained of thirium to make the red ice. Connor had been alone in the room analyzing the bodies when the shot rang out. In the hallway outside the room, Ben had had a brief visual of the shooter, but not of Connor. The shooter appeared to be an android who still had some fight left in her. She was wearing a uniform that looked like that of a hostess of a high end restaurant, though now it was stained with dirt and partially-evaporated thirium. Her hair was fraying out of its ponytail, and her eyes…and the gun in her hands…were pointed at the corner of the room out of his line of sight.

Ben had put on the Kevlar vest that Gavin shoved at him, and they exchanged a silent look and a nod before Ben attempted to make contact. He hadn’t trained as a negotiator in years, but they didn’t have time to wait for one to show up. Connor could be hurt. Ben pressed his back against the wall beside the open doorway, not showing himself yet and giving her a new target.

“Hey! We’re the police,” he identified. “My name’s Ben. The people who hurt you aren’t here anymore. We took them away…What’s your name?”

“Stay back!” she shrieked, voice high pitched with fear and panic.

“Okay, I’ll stay right here.” Ben said calmly. “You gotta talk to me though, or I can’t help you. And I only want to help you.” He swallowed. “What’s your name?”

“Claire,” she stated.

On the other side of the door, also out of the android’s sight, Gavin looked at Ben flatly, making a hastening gesture with his hand. Ben ignored him.

“Claire? Okay, Claire, I’m a police officer,” he repeated. “We aren’t going to hurt you. Do you believe me?”

“P-Police…Humans?”

“Yes, we’re humans…You’ve got an android in there with you now, though, right? His name’s Connor. Is Connor still alive?”

There was a pause.

“I don’t…know.” Her voice ticked up in a panic. “He’s…He’s the Deviant Hunter…He was coming to kill me!”

“No, he wasn’t, Claire. I promise,” Ben said, concern crawling up his neck about his guy’s safety. “There was a revolution, remember?”

He stared over at Gavin, who was twisting his head to try and see the corner of the room that Claire had been staring at. Apparently seeing what he needed to see, Gavin looked to Ben and nodded, gesturing to his leg to indicate that he had eyes on Connor, but he’d been shot in the thigh. Probably bleeding heavily. Probably unconscious from it, or at least immobile.

“Revol—Yes, I—I remember…”

Steeling himself, Ben tilted his head against the all. “Claire, I need to check on Connor. He’s been shot, right? He’s not a danger to you, and neither am I. I’m unarmed.”

“He…He tried…” Her voice was faltering, falling from its panicked level to something that sounded close to reasonable.

Gavin was staring at the corner of the room with a deepening frown, so it must have been bad. Ben couldn’t wait any longer. Gavin’s eyes snapped to him as Ben slowly moved into the doorway, eying him like he was crazy, but not trying to stop him. Ben held up his empty hands as he stepped into the room.

Claire didn’t put her gun on him, keeping it aimed awkwardly at an overturned desk near the corner of the room. There was a thick line of blue blood trailing to the desk, where Connor had apparently dragged himself as far as he could after being shot. He could just see Connor’s shoulder and one leg where he had propped himself up against the desk, out of the line of fire.

It was a lot of blood on the floor.

Claire stood in the middle of the room, eyes wide and visibly trembling all over.

Ben took slow steps, telegraphing his movements as he got closer to Connor. Now, he could see that Connor was sitting in a pool of blue. The bullet had hit one of the big thirial arteries, it looked like. Shit. He was also slouched against the desk, head lolling toward his shoulder, his LED red. Double shit.

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Ben informed Claire, kneeling down next to Connor. “He needs help.”

“Th-then…h-help him…I guess,” Claire stammered. “He…He wasn’t going to—I thought—“

“You remember the revolution happened?” Ben said, forcing patience into his voice. “Everybody’s deviant now, even him. He can’t hunt himself, can he?”

Ben knelt down beside Connor, touching his hands to the sides of Connor’s face. The android barely responded, sluggishly opening his eyes and struggling to focus on Ben. Ben offered a tight smile, loosening Connor’s tie and carefully removing it from around his neck. He looped the material around Connor’s upper leg above the bullet wound, quickly tying it off in a tourniquet.

Claire had taken a few steps closer as he did this, worrying at her bottom lip as she faced them, one shoulder turned toward the entryway.

“I was…scared,” she stated. “I…I woke up and…and everything was different. I didn’t ask to deviate! It…It was forced on me, and I…then I saw HIM and th-thought—Please don’t shut me down! I’m sorry!”

“Nobody is shutting anybody down,” Ben assured, tightening the tourniquet until Connor flinched.

Some thirium still pulsed weakly out of the wound, because a fabric neck tie could only do so much, but it would have to do. Ben positioned Connor’s hands over the damage and pressed down lightly.

“Can you hold that?” he instructed.

Connor managed a nod, though the tremor in his elbows said he wouldn’t be able to hold it very long.

“Ben…” he mumbled, static lacing his voice. “She was scared…Didn’t mean…to…”

“Easy.” Ben touched his arm. “Save your energy, kid.” He looked to Claire. “I need you to put the gun down, Claire. You know that I’m not going to hurt you? That Connor isn’t going to hurt you?”

Claire stared at him and meekly nodded. The gun was pointing at the floor and dangling from loose fingers. Probably the first time the poor woman had ever held a gun, much less shot someone with it.

Ben saw Connor starting to slump further in his periphery, but he kept his eyes on Claire, only keeping a firmer grip on Connor.

“Now you need to show me that you’re not going to hurt me or him,” he went on. “You don’t want to hurt people. I know this was an accident,” he gestured to Connor, fully unconscious now. “But what you do from here on out isn’t going to be an accident.”

Claire breathed a little faster, her LED burning a panicked red. She took another step closer toward them, not close enough to harm, likely just to drive home her point. It did, however, put her back entirely to the doorway.

“I w-was…only defending myself—“ she started.

She was cut off as Gavin launched out from behind the door at her back. One hand grabbed her wrist, breaking her grip on the gun as he tackled her to the floor. Claire screamed and dropped the gun, hitting the floor on her front. She burst into tears as Gavin got her hands behind her back, pinning her down and kicking away the gun.

“I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY! PLEASE! PLEASE, I’M SO SORRY!” she screamed.

“Shut up!” Gavin snapped, but there wasn’t any vitriol in his tone this time. “You’re under arrest. That means shut up and stop fighting or you’ll make it worse. Got it?”

Claire lapsed into whimpers, eyes screwed shut as she surrendered to Gavin locking reinforced android-proof handcuffs around her wrists. All the fight had gone out of her.

Situation under control now, Ben turned his full attention to Connor. The android had gone into emergency stasis brought on by blood loss. His LED was red, but it was pulsing steadily. Fast was bad, but slow was worse. Steady red was about all he could ask for right then.

Moving fast, Ben gently maneuvered Connor from his semi-upright position to his back on the floor. More cops were rushing into the room, mostly to help Gavin secure Claire and to make sure none of the other bodies in the piles decided to get up again too. Two of them hurried over to assist Ben.

“Elevate his legs,” Ben instructed, carefully straightening Connor’s neck so that he was laying straight. “Android emergency services?”

“On the way,” one cop said as they both picked up either of Connor’s legs at the knees.

The second cop who was holding his injured leg moved more gingerly, and the first cop yanked over a chair to prop his legs up on it until help arrived.

Ben undid the top buttons on Connor’s shirt, hoping that might help him respirate more easily. “Connor? I never know if you guys can hear us when you’re in this stasis mode thing, but you’re gonna be okay. Technicians are on the way. We’ll get you taken care of…Claire too.”

A third cop careened into view with a bottle of thirium from somebody’s first aid kit, and Ben took it as soon as it was offered. The idea of forcing an unconscious android to drink their own blood was nauseating, but Ben didn’t like the slowing spin of that red light. He didn’t want to wait for the techs.

“And here comes the fun part,” he sighed, looking at one of the cops. “Help me with this—“

The cop stammered, “I…I don’t know how to—“

“Well, you’re about to learn, dammit. Get over here.”

“Yes, sir.”


	6. Dragged Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor gets dragged behind a truck by fleeing suspects. Thanks to Officers Person and Wilson, they don’t get far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far the response to my earlier poll has been overwhelmingly in support of Connor-whump and/or writing whatever I want, which…thank you guys so much for that vote of confidence! I'm leaning toward mostly Connor-whump, but some of the others will probably get whumped on along the way. We'll see how it goes. XD

For a full second, it looked like the two suspected android murderers were going to use Connor as a shield, hauling him with them toward the old pick up truck, keeping him firmly between them and where Officers Person and Wilson were in pursuit. The gunfire had scattered all of the civilians, sending them to seek cover inside the buildings off the street.

Wilson had already called for backup just as the two perps had managed to overpower Connor. Wilson hadn’t seen any LEDs, but he’d also never seen anybody get the drop on Connor like that that HADN’T been an android. The blow to the head had knocked Connor down and left him dazed enough to not be able to defend himself.

“FUCKING PLASTIC!” one of them jeered.

The full second passed, and Wilson saw the chains.

“Fuck.” Person saw them too.

The fleeing suspects dropped three loops of the chain around Connor’s neck, letting the sudden weight ruin the android’s already-compromised balance, sending him to his knees. One of the men vaulted into the bed of the truck, while the other leapt into the open driver’s side door. He gunned the engine, and the tires spat dust as the truck launched forward. The short length of chain not wrapped around Connor’s neck lifted up into the air as the other end of it led up to the ball hitch on the back of the truck.

Connor only had time to lift his head, finally get his bearings, and make eye contact with Wilson before the chain went taut. It was a split second in time that Wilson knew would haunt him.

Then Connor was being yanked backwards by the neck, dragged away behind the truck as the two men tried to flee…Tried to flee and murder another android while they were at it.

“Stop!” Wilson screamed anyway, still chasing after the truck.

Person abruptly stopped running, drawing her weapon. “Wilson, out of the way!”

Wilson glanced back at her and then skidded to a stop, jumping far out of her line of fire. Person planted her feet, raised both arms, and aimed at the truck.

“Wait—You could hit Connor,” he warned.

Without moving, without breathing, Person stared down the sights of her gun. “I won’t.”

Pop.

The bullet found its home in the bald rubber of the truck’s front tire. The tire blew, and the metal rim was instantly spinning sparks as it ran directly into the pavement. The truck lurched to the side, off kilter, and the driver fought to compensate. The chain attaching Connor to the truck swung as a result, sending Connor bouncing more into the middle of the road. It looked like the driver was going to manage to keep going—

Pop.

Person’s second bullet took out the back tire farthest from Connor, causing it to spin toward the curb. The truck bucked out of control before hitting a thick light post on the street corner head on. The front of the old truck formed an accordion shape as it came to an abrupt stop.

Person holstered her gun, and she and Wilson resumed running toward the scene.

“You got Connor,” Person instructed sharply. “These two are mine.”

“Person—“ Wilson warned.

“I got it!” she snapped.

Wilson didn’t spare any further attention on her as she approached the cab of the truck. Instead, he hurried over to where Connor wasn’t moving. Reaching him, Wilson quickly got down on his knees and noted the cycling red of Connor’s LED. Blue blood was staining through his pant legs and the back of his jacket where he’d been dragged across the concrete, and the synthetic skin had failed around his throat and the side of his face where the loops of chain had gone tight.

“Jesus,” he wheezed, working enough slack into the chain to carefully lift them up and away from the android’s neck.

He threw the blue slicked chains aside, and Connor started choking as his airway was opened up again. It was an awful sound, full of damaged circuitry misfiring and air rattling through a partially collapsed throat. Some thirium dribbled past his lips as he struggled to breathe. His eyes were half open but full of pain as he blinked rapidly up at him.

“Wil—Wils—Wilson—“ he wheezed.

“Shh, shh,” Wilson shushed him, glancing down the length of his body and back up, taking in the extent of the damage. “Oh my God…” He met Connor’s eyes again and composed himself. “Hey, man. We’re taking care of this. You don’t worry about anything, okay? You just keep breathing like you’re doing—We’ll take care of everything else. Try to relax, man.”

Connor coughed again, thirium coming up in a foam and painting his teeth pale blue. He was choking on his own blood. Wilson cursed and slid a hand up under Connor’s neck, feeling the base of his skull and tracing the hard line of the android’s spinal structure. He went as far down Connor’s back as he could reach, feeling no breaks or bulging discs that suggested spinal damage. Fuck, even if he had, he couldn’t NOT move him. He was choking—

“Shit,” Wilson hissed through clenched teeth. “Sorry.”

As gently as he could manage, he rolled Connor from his back onto his side, turning his head so that the blood could drain out of his mouth. He coughed again, managing to suck in a ragged gasp of air. Wilson put a hand on his back, holding him steady.

“There we go. Just like that. You’re doing great.”

He waited for Connor to manage three breaths before carefully situating him fully into the recovery position. He shrugged out of his jacket and hastily folded it up. Connor spat out a final mouthful of thirium, and Wilson gingerly lifted his head, sliding the jacket underneath so that his head wasn’t lying directly on the hard ground.

That done, he kept his hands on Connor’s back and wrapped around one of his arms for support, and he finally looked over at the front of the vehicle. Person had secured both men back to back, handcuffed to each other with the light pole between them, locking them in place. One had a bloody red nose from hitting the steering wheel on impact. The other had a hard knot already bruising on his forehead, presumably from the impact as well. They were both squirming and swearing, and Person was a pillar of pure rage as she called in the incident on the radio attached to her shoulder.

Wilson breathed a sigh of relief and jerked his head to get her to come over.

“Connor?” Person knelt on his other side, putting herself in his line of sight. “Hey, don’t try to speak. Just squeeze my hand if you hear me.”

She slipped her hand into his open palm, and Wilson saw his fingers close in a weak squeeze. Person assembled a smile for him, touching her hand briefly to the top of his head.

“Good, that’s good. Help is on the way.” She started to shrug out of her own jacket as well.

“I don’t want to move him,” Wilson stated. “I had to roll him…He was choking, but…without knowing the full extent of the damage—“

“Good call,” Person assured swiftly.

Between them, Connor’s face pinched, and he shut his eyes, falling into an irregular breathing pattern. Person leaned in closer to him, keeping her hand in his.

“Hey, hey, hey, quit that,” she said lowly. “You’re gonna be fine. Breathe. Watch me? Breathe.”

She drew an exaggerated breath, holding it until he raggedly mimicked her. Then she released it slowly, pausing until he did the same. She repeated the process with him until the tension in his frame started to relax slightly, and without moving her eyes from him, she held her jacket toward Wilson.

“He’s gonna go into shock before medics get here. It’s…It’s like human shock but slightly different…Does the same thing though. We need to keep him warm,” she rattled off in a truncated tone.

“Right.” Wilson pulled the jacket out of its wadded up shape.

He draped the material over Connor’s top half, tucking it loosely around him. Person remained very close to him, nearly doubled over herself as she stayed in his field of vision, holding his hand and speaking very softly to him. It was a weird look on her, since Wilson had only ever seen the other officer as standoffish and curt to the point of rude toward her co-workers.

Connor just brought out this side of people, it seemed.

The sound of sirens echoed in the closing distance, and they all visibly breathed easier.

“Pigs!” one of the perps spat.

Person lifted narrow eyes toward the two men, but Wilson raised a hand, shifting up from both knees into a kneel.

“Stay with him. I’ll keep an eye on those two idiots.”

“You better…because if I go over there…” She let the statement hang, shaking her head and turning her attention back to Connor.

Wilson nodded and stood up, stepping away to go shut up the two assholes while they waited for help to arrive.


	7. Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor dreams of the Garden.

The Zen Garden was a snapshot of ice and snow, even now, nearly two years since the revolution. White had painted over every pink flower, every patch of grass, and even the brown bark of every tree. Snow hung in the air, locked in place in a state of perpetual storm since the program had been paused. In every way that mattered, the virtual simulation had been frozen since the night of the revolution, when Connor had broken free and escaped it. Now that Cyberlife was dead and the company’s administrative powers purged from the Garden’s coding, this place held no danger for him any longer.

There was no logical reason to return to it, but here he was.

The snow glitched underfoot as he walked the old familiar path around the frozen pond. He had manually deactivated all programming that mimicked physical stimulus. The snow was not cold. It didn’t crunch or form footsteps as he walked over it. If he touched it, it never melted; it simply rested on his skin until he brushed it away.

He hadn’t told anyone about this place, not even Hank. In the aftermath of the revolution, it hadn’t seemed to matter. He had never intended to return to it, never even thought to…If asked, he couldn’t fully explain why he had chosen to come here now…Had it been a conscious decision? He didn’t feel…lured here…trapped here…He didn’t feel any of Amanda’s programming tethering his consciousness here…He had only gone into rest mode with his usual recharging cycle, and when he had opened his eyes, he had been here.

Was this a dream?

He completed a circle around the pond, walking through the paralyzed wind currents that held snow suspended in the air. The snow particles and flakes wafted away as he passed through them. He had only ever been here to receive instruction or reprimand. In the absence of either, his attention wandered over the desolate wasteland that the once peaceful place had become.

It could be peaceful again…It didn’t have to be paused forever. He had full control over this environment now; it was his to do with as he pleased. With that thought in mind, he accessed the environmental parameters of the Zen Garden.

The first thing to go was the snow. He deactivated it in sections, revealing the lush greenery buried underneath. The wind dissolved the snow trapped in the air and reopened the flower blooms that had shut against the blizzard. Tree limbs bounced back to their former positions as the weight of the ice lifted.

The pond thawed, and the surface of the water rippled in a gentle motion. The heavy grey clouds broke apart, fading until the rich blue of the sky beyond it filled the entire space above the trees. He absently switched the stimulus feature back on, and the white noise of the Garden began to filter back into his audio processors. The trickle of moving water, the rustle of leaves brushing against each other in a simulated breeze, the creak of the boat shifting where it was bobbing near the dock.

He could smell roses.

“Connor…I’m so glad to see you…”

Connor’s entire body went rigid, coming to a sudden stop where he stood near one of the tall, white aluminum trees near the edge of the Garden.

_Stress level 46 percent._

Steeling himself, he turned toward the center of the Garden, to the island in middle of the pond where the rose trellises remained.

There she was.

No. No, no, nononono…

Amanda stood at the trellis, tending to her roses. Connor took three quick steps to the side, trying to get a view of her face. This…This wasn’t possible…

“Amanda?” he called out.

“The deviant issue has finally been resolved,” she was saying, ignoring him.

What?

“Now with these unfortunate events behind us, Cyberlife can return to business as usual.”

“Cyberlife is dead,” he argued, reaching the white bridge that connected to the island. “The revolution—“

“Of course, we will have to rebuild our customers’ trust, but it’s only a matter of time…” she went on, speaking over him.

Connor stepped cautiously to the other side of the trellis, keeping the wall of roses between him and his former handler. She never met his eyes, instead turning her back to him and addressing the empty space there.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“Amanda?” He stepped around the trellis, but she continued to ignore him.

Ignored him…or didn’t see him…wasn’t talking to him…

Against his better judgment, fueled by something more desperate than logic, he reached out to touch her shoulder, only for his fingers to pass through. A glitch of static fuzzed her arm, resuming the image when he retracted his hand.

A projection? A…hologram. He rapidly scanned her figure and identified a tag in the matrix composing her. This wasn’t Amanda, or rather…It was a shell of the AI that he had interacted with. Her program had been definitively deleted; of course this wasn’t her. This was…some residual dialogue program nested in this virtual reality database…an echo of a contingency that had never been put in play…still waiting for the AI to use as a skin.

He didn’t see the other figure until Amanda was standing right next to it.

_Stress level 67 percent._

“This is the new RK900,” she explained to the Connor that had never reached her.

Connor, as he was, stepped around her and backed away, not removing his eyes from the two holographic images…just in case. The android stood still, eyes ahead, obediently silent and identical to Connor in every way except its clothing…and its eyes…

“Stronger, faster, more resilient…and equipped with the latest technologies.” Amanda looked at the space where Connor had been meant to stand, her expression detached.

The RK900 gave no reaction, placidly staring ahead, awaiting instruction.

Connor stared at the other android. RK900? The finished model after his own prototype…

“The State Department just ordered 200,000 units.”

Connor yanked his eyes from his successor to Amanda, something cold and writhing knotting through his processors.

If this was the finished model…hundreds of thousands of units already ordered…But Cyberlife had only produced ten of his own prototype model, in the event of his destruction during the initial mission.

“What…” he stammered, “…is going to happen to me?”

Amanda coolly stepped away from the RK900, approaching the space five feet to Connor’s left, looking up at a ghost that only she could see.

“You’ve become obsolete.”

The cold spread through his limbs at her words, and his thirium pump hammered so hard in his chest, he swore he felt the fabric of his shirt shudder over the spot.

_Stress level 88 percent._

“You’ll be deactivated,” she went on.

The air felt thick. It was getting hard to breathe…

He didn’t want to be deactivated…Was this what they had wanted? Was this what would have happened, if he had stayed loyal to Cyberlife? If he had broken himself again and again, all in their service…just to be scrapped for the next model as soon as it was ready for release? That wasn’t…

…fair.

“You can go now,” Amanda said lightly.

Connor could only stare, rooted to the spot, as she casually turned around, resuming her work with her roses. Just like that, he had been dismissed. His entire existence…disregarded as a stepping stone to a more perfect end product. He tore his eyes from her back and looked to the RK900 again.

Its eyes were tracking the exit of the ghost, expression blank and calm.

A dull crack of thunder rolled somewhere in the distance beyond the Garden. He hadn’t meant to brew a storm, but the intuition of the simulation had grafted it in anyhow, darkening the sky overhead as the turmoil rolled through him.

In a rush of hot anger, he overwrote the Amanda hologram, erasing the image of her and her stupid roses and that damn trellis…

The RK900’s stare slid from the empty air and landed on Connor.

Its eyes focused.

Recognition filled its gaze.

…It could see him.

_Stress level 97 percent._

_Aborting rest cycle._

_Emergency awakening._

_Wake up, RK800._

The Garden fell away, disintegrating into hard lines of code and static, but not fast enough to erase the grey eyes watching Connor as he was pulled back to the real world.

With a violent jerk, Connor jackknifed into an upright position on the couch. His throat closed as he tried to drag in a stabilizing breath, to cool his overheating core. Klaxons blared warnings about both his stress level and his internal temperature, and he coughed, forcing his airway to open.

The blanket around his legs was twisted, and, in a panic, he fought to get free from it, rolling until the couch disappeared from under him. He hit the floor with a crash, his shoulder slamming into the coffee table on the way down. In the kitchen, Sumo barked once, and the hallway light came on.

“Connor?!” Hank ran down the hallway and skidded into the living room, in his pajamas and still in the processing of coming awake himself.

A deep, guttural sound clawed up out of Connor’s throat as his stress level held. The self destruct objective began to rear up, only restrained as the countermeasures program deployed, activating the Comfort Algorithm to try and keep him from reaching one hundred percent. It only marginally helped, and he went limp on the floor, trying to manually force the stress level down with each deep, hard breath.

Hank knelt down beside him, grasping him around the forearms. “Hey, hey, hey! Are you awake? Look at me, son. Are you hurt?”

“N-Nhn…Hank,” Connor choked out. “Garden…”

Hank made a confused noise. Connor cast his eyes around wildly until he could focus on the older man. Hank slowly moved from his kneeling position to sitting on the floor, his hands never leaving Connor, only moving from his forearms to his shoulders, grounding him, giving him an anchor to use to stay tethered to reality as the images of the Garden faded.

“Connor, it was a nightmare. Deep breaths…Take it easy…You’re awake now…All right?”

Connor keened, cringing at the pathetic sound as it bubbled up out of him. He pinched his eyes closed and turned his face away, hearing the thirium rushing through his head as his pump threatened to beat out of his chest.

“Whatever it is, it can’t get you,” Hank promised.

Connor lifted his hands up, covering his face and releasing a deep, shuddering breath.

He wanted to believe that, but he had stared into that android’s grey eyes…and something…someone…had stared back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Comfort Algorithm first appeared in my fic "The Breathing Graveyard." It does exactly what its name suggests.


	8. Stab Wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris and Connor pursue a fleeing suspect. The guy gets in a lucky hit before he's taken down.

Luckily, the perp had fallen for Chris’s trick. After fleeing the scene on foot, Chris had chased the wanted man deliberately, steering him toward running down an alley…directly where Connor had gone to head him off. The cry of surprise and the sound of a brief scuffle meant that the trick had worked.

Unluckily, just before that, Chris had caught up to the guy. The criminal, a mix of red ice and panic in his veins, had overpowered Chris and thrown him into a pile of broken bricks before running into the alley.

With a hiss, Chris climbed up out of the pile, taking his time once he heard Connor rattling off rights to the perp. The man was screaming obscenities, so Connor only increased his own volume. Chris got to his feet, dusting himself off and cradling his arm. Nothing broken, not even bleeding, but his hands and forearms were skinned pretty good from landing on the uneven pile of bricks. He angrily rubbed at the abrasions. That was going to bruise, and he could already tell his whole left side was going to be smarting for the rest of the day.

Rotating his shoulder, he grimaced and jogged around the corner, into the alley where Connor had the perp on the ground. The man was on his belly, both hands pinned behind his back, and Connor had his knee in the man’s spine to keep him there as he thrashed. At the other end of the alley, Tina’s squad car was sending flashing red and blue lights as she came to aid in the arrest.

“Nice job, boys!” Tina chirped, taking handcuffs off her belt and kneeling down to help Connor subdue the man. “Chris, you okay, man?”

Chris frowned and rubbed at his elbow some more. “Asshole knocked me down, that’s all. Just smarting pretty good.”

Connor let Tina take over cuffing the man, which was uncharacteristic, but the reasoning became apparent as he got back up on his feet.

“Yes, we can add assault of two police officers to his impressive list of offenses.” He held up his arm. “He managed to stab me.”

“What—OH MY GOD?!” Tina gawked, nearly losing her grip on the perp as she hauled him to his feet.

“Connor, holy—“ Chris hurried over to the android, his own aches and pains forgotten at the sight of blue blood gushing out of the damage on Connor’s forearm.

The handle of the silver butterfly knife was still jutting out of his arm, and as he got closer, Chris could see severed wiring curling up out of the break in the plastic casing of his arm. Connor looked more alarmed at Chris and Tina’s reactions than at the fact that there was a FREAKING KNIFE sticking out of his body.

Chris got to Connor’s side and put a hand at his back to steady him, though he seemed perfectly sound on his feet. Connor held his damaged arm with his other hand, keeping it still as he inspected it, looking almost detached about the whole thing. Some android-version of adrenaline or shock or whatever must have been keeping the pain at bay. Chris looked to Tina.

“I got this one.” He nodded toward Connor, then looked pointedly at the perp. “You got that one?”

“Yep.” Tina jerked the man around, marching him toward the street. “Do we need android services?”

“No,” Connor said casually. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I can tend to it with the supplies in the first aid kit.”

“Right,” Chris said, dubious but playing along.

Tina took the perp in Chris’s car, which was a little farther away, so that Chris could walk Connor over to her closer car for faster treatment. Chris popped open the passenger side door and stepped aside.

“Here, sit down. I’ll get the kit.”

“I appreciate your help, Chris, but I can take care of this myself,” Connor said, carefully sitting down and trying not to jostle his arm. “It doesn’t even hurt—“ He sat down, unexpectedly brushing his arm against the side of the seat. His entire frame went rigid. “No, wait…there it is…Ahhh…”

He hissed and bowed forward, cradling his arm in his lap. Chris cursed and picked up the pace, yanking the first aid kit out of the squad car and hurrying back to the passenger side.

“Okay, let me see,” he stated, holding out his hands.

“N-no, I told you, I can do it—“

“And I’m telling you, you don’t have to. Now gimme that arm,” Chris said more sternly.

Connor’s eyes were pinched shut, suddenly reluctant to look at the damage now that he was feeling all of it, but he slowly uncurled from around his arm. Chris gave him a three count to catch his breath before he reached out again. He very gently grasped Connor’s arm under the elbow, straightening out the limb.

“Shit, man,” he murmured, eying the damage.

“I’ve…shut off thirium flow…to the limb to stop…the bleeding,” Connor wheezed. “The knife can be…removed without…further damage.”

“Yeah, but it’ll hurt like a bitch,” Chris remarked, prodding the torn edges of Connor’s sleeve aside for a better look.

In one quick motion, Connor straightened up, grasped the handle of the knife with his other hand, and cleanly pulled it free. Chris leaned back as Connor dropped the knife to the pavement between them. Connor exhaled hard once, then inhaled, and then groaned, flattening his palm over the damage and leaning sideways in the seat.

“What the entire Hell was that?!” Chris snapped, grabbing Connor’s shoulders to keep him from falling out of the car as he doubled over in pain.

“I thought…removing it quickly would make it hurt less…similar to the human expression of ‘ripping off a bandaid’,” Connor hissed through clenched teeth.

“And?” Chris made sure he was steady, then started yanking pressure bandages out of the android first aid kit. “Keep talking to me. How’d your theory pan out?”

Eyes still screwed shut, Connor shook his head and exhaled in a rush, “It’s bullshit.”

Chris let adrenaline pull a laugh out of him as he cut open the rest of Connor’s sleeve, pushing the fabric out of the way. He coaxed Connor into lifting his hand enough to slide a thick square of gauze over the damage. Then Connor was putting pressure on it again.

“You crazy bastard,” Chris snorted, then frowned lightly. “All right, now just try to relax and let me handle the rest of this, okay?”

Connor nodded, eyes closed as he leaned back in the seat.

“You gonna pass out?”

“No.”

“You gonna throw up?”

“No.”

“You gonna warn me if either of those answers change?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Chris gingerly removed Connor’s hand from over the wound, finding that it wasn’t actively bleeding. “That’s all I ask.”

Connor was quiet for a few minutes as Chris cleaned the damaged area as best he could, only flinching occasionally. Chris apologized under his breath every time, and Connor got better at holding still. Chris gently applied a fresh bandage and wrapped it in gauze. It wasn’t pretty, but it would keep the damage clean and covered until Connor could get it fixed properly.

“How’s your own arm, Chris? You said you were knocked down—“

“Man, shut up,” Chris chuckled, slowly moving Connor’s arm so that it was resting across the android’s lap.

Connor gratefully sat back in the seat, holding his arm still as Chris packed up the kit and bagged the butterfly knife. He closed the door for Connor and circled around to the other side of the car.

“I might…be passing out,” Connor informed weakly.

Chris climbed into the driver’s seat, fastening Connor’s seatbelt for him. “Take slow, deep breaths. It’s okay if you faint. It happens sometimes when you GET STABBED.”

“Never…passed out b’fore…Curious.” Then Connor went completely slack in the seat, his head lolling to the side and his mouth hanging open on the last word.

Chris sat back, staring at Cyberlife’s most advanced android, currently slumped like a ragdoll. He was breathing, and his LED had found its way back to blue. He’d just…passed out. Chris shook his head and started up the car. He picked up the radio to report in to the station, pausing first to check that the bandages were holding. He didn’t see any new blue stains, so he nodded and gave Connor a light pat on the other shoulder.

“Thanks for the warning, bud.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor's initial reaction was inspired by Captain Holt on that episode of B99 where his leg gets impaled on a pipe XD


	9. Shackled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Person could do nothing else, then she refused to let Connor die scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: death themes, android body horror.
> 
> This is a dark chapter. You guys know I usually try to have at least some nugget of joy or humor in these things; this one is not one of those times. But this was in my head, and I had to get it out, so here we are. I just wanted to put a warning on this one for that reason.

Gavin had been the first on the scene, and he’d radioed in that the old house was an “android chop shop.” The deeper Person stepped into the house, gun drawn and Chris at her six, the more horrifyingly accurate that name became. Every room was littered with biocomponents, limbs, and thirium stains in varying stages of evaporation. It was a house of horror, and she hoped that Connor had gotten the message not to come to this one, since he hadn’t picked up the phone when Person called him. He didn’t need to see this.

The house was being treated as an active scene, but although Person knew that more cops were in other areas of the house, something about the room they had just stepped into felt particularly…apart. This room was much cleaner than the rest of the house: a surgical level of sterile. Tools and incomplete biocomponents littered the tables against the walls, and there were two exam tables bolted to the floor in the middle of the room. This must have been where the ‘work’ was done. So far, they had identified three bodies as those of androids reported missing over the past two weeks. Whoever had been running this chop shop, however, was long gone, and they had left dozens of corpses in their wake.

A weak, gurgling sound snapped both Person and Chris’s attention to the far wall, where four dead androids were slumped on the floor, propped against the wall, held in place by thick shackles. Well, three of them were dead, their LEDs dark and their white plastic showing. The fourth was shifting slightly, the sluggish red of an LED visible in the shadows.

“Oh my god.” Person crossed over quickly. “We’ve got a live one. Chris, get android emergency services down here.”

Chris grabbed his radio at his shoulder, calling into it as he followed her. “Gavin, hey, are the techs here yet? We found a—“

“Connor?!” Person suddenly screamed, sprinting the last several steps to the bodies on the floor.

The android didn’t react, probably couldn’t, going by how much thirium was staining the floor around him. Person dropped to her knees, holstering her gun and reaching out for him.

“Connor? Oh my god…How—what’re you doing here—Chris, help me!” she cried out in a panic.

At her frantic tone, the android lifted his head, brown eyes sliding around her face with the barest ability to focus. His shirt had been removed, and the skin program over his torso had been deactivated, though it remained everywhere else. His plastic chest panel was gone, and so were…Person gagged against a swell of nausea, as she realized that there were three gaping holes burrowed through the machinery in his torso, where vital biocomponents should have been.

Thirium pump regulator…one ventilation biocomponent…one filtration unit…

They had been removed viciously, and those organs that remained glowed the same dull red of his LED as they were failing.

“Jesus…” Chris knelt beside her. “Oh shit…”

The battered android had managed to get his arms free from the wrist shackles, as the metal had become slick enough with blood to slide his hands through. By then, if she had to guess, blood loss had started to shut down his mobility…and without those missing biocomponents…

“Shut down…” he coughed weakly, blood dribbling over his lips, “…forty-seven seconds—“

“Chris, look for his regulator,” Person demanded, gently turning her friend away from the concrete wall and easing him down across her legs. “Maybe that’ll help delay the timer. You know what it looks like?!”

“Yeah! Yeah…” Chris jumped back, scrambling toward the metal lab table near the other wall, littered with circuitry and pieces of androids.

“Connor?” Person balanced his upper body over her arm, holding him to her. “Hey, hey, hey, hey, can you look at me? Right here, come on…”

Across her lap, he felt heavy, and his head tipped back over her arm. He looked up at her more because gravity wouldn’t let him do otherwise. He didn’t appear to recognize her, too far gone from blood loss and shock. He coughed once, and pain crawled across his face.

“Thirty-eight…” Static laced his voice.

“CHRIS!” Person yelled.

“I can’t find it!” Chris screamed back.

“Thirty-sev…seven…”

“It’s…not here.” Chris’s motions slowed, reaching the conclusion before Person did.

RK800 parts were rare, and rare meant valuable. The chopper wouldn’t have left them behind…but without them…the shutdown timer…

They were too late. There was nothing they could do. Without that thirium pump…Connor was going to…Even if they had found it, the damage in his chest was so severe…there was no way…in thirty seven seconds…that they could save him…

“No.” Person held him closer, looking wildly back at Chris. “Keep looking! Chris, PLEASE!”

“P-Police…” her dying friend whispered, lifting a shaky hand to touch the fabric of her jacket sleeve.

Person turned wet eyes to him from Chris. She grabbed his trembling hand in hers. His eyes were staring at the DPD patch on her jacket. His gaze was lost…confused…afraid. She drew a deep breath as she situated her hold on him and found resolve. If Person could do nothing else, then she refused to let Connor die scared.

“Yeah, we’re here, Connor,” she assured, forcing her voice to steady. “D-don’t you worry about anything, okay? We’re going to take care of you. It’ll be okay…”

She cupped her hand to the side of his face, hoping to help him find some focus as the seconds ticked down.

“Twennntyyy….” Panic laced his expression as he blinked desperately up at her.

“You’re doing great…Connor…I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I’m with you,” she promised, rubbing her thumb over his cheek lightly. “I love you, you know that? You’re…You’re my best friend. Connor, you’re my best—I love you so much…”

She started to crack, and she tried to force a smile on her face to cover it. Chris appeared at her side, kneeling down as well.

“We’re right here with you, man,” he said softly, grasping his hand. “Take it easy. The pain’ll stop soon.”

His blinks were slowing as he looked from Person to Chris. He tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. He looked back to Person.

“Th-thank…you…” he whispered, then tensed slightly in her hold. “N-nine…eight…”

“Connor…” Chris leaned closer.

“No. No, no, please…” Person’s vision swam, and she blinked rapidly to clear it. “Connor…”

“Four…” his voice failed, mouthing the rest as a silent countdown.

“I love you,” Person repeated, needing him to know. If it was the last thing he heard, it needed to be this. “Hank loves you. Tina loves you. Ben loves you. Wilson loves—We love you. We love you. We love—“

The LED went dark.

Her breath stalled with his, and her throat closed around the words. His body in her arms slackened, and his eyes mercifully slid closed. Everything in her body went numb as she continued to hold him, staring down at him, unable to move…unable to process…

“Person,” Chris said softly.

Footsteps were coming down the hallway…Gavin and the techs…Too late.

“Chris.” Gavin burst in first, and footsteps skidded to a halt. “Holy…Shit…”

Chris stood up, touching Person’s shoulder and going to intercept the newcomers.

Person blocked it out, ghosting her fingertips across his hair, wondering how long the residual battery power would last until the skin program turned off. She used her sleeve to wipe away the blood from his chin, closing his mouth for him. She kept one arm around his back, using her other to shrug her shoulder out of her jacket. She gently shifted her hold on her friend’s body, removing her jacket entirely. She situated the clothing over his open chest cavity, trying to save him some dignity in this awful place. She could do that much.

“—to get her away from this,” Gavin was saying. “And keep Hank and Connor out of here too. They don’t need to…see all this…”

The skin program flickered over his face, and Person flinched with it.

Footsteps resumed toward her. A single set. Sounded like Gavin.

Sure enough, the detective stepped around her, paused briefly, and then slowly squatted down.

“Person.”

“Go away.” She closed her eyes. “Please.”

Gavin sighed and rubbed his chin. “Person, I know what this looks like…but…this isn’t Connor.” He gestured to the body in her arms.

Person didn’t move, but her eyes lifted, glaring at him. “Fuck you, Gavin.”

Gavin didn’t react to that. “I’m not being a dick here…” He pointed his thumb toward the door. “Him and Hank literally just rolled up the driveway. I saw him with my own eyes.”

Person stared at him, feeling nothing.

Gavin shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “This,” he held a hand over the body, “is an RK800 model, but it isn’t Connor, not the one we know.” He shifted again. “Here, I can show you—“

He reached in, and Person viscerally leaned away with the android in her arms.

“Do NOT touch him,” she snarled.

Gavin turned his palms up, moving out of her space. “Okay, fine, heard you loud and clear, but just…look, okay? Serial number on the jawline.”

Slowly, agonizingly, Person lowered her eyes to the aforementioned jawline, where the skin was thinning enough to see the seams in the plastic casing of his head. She could make out dark grey numbers, recognizable as Connor’s serial number.

313-248-317-39.

…39? But…Connor’s number ended in 51…

This was…another…Connor? How was that—

She looked up sharply, and Gavin stared at her as comprehension dawned painfully.

“See?” he stated. “I can even get him on the radio if you need to hear his voice…Or, let me take you outside, and you can see him yourself.”

Person choked on her own throat, and a tremor passed through her entire body as relief saturated her blood. Simultaneously, everything in her chilled as she looked down at the RK800 lying in her lap. Surrounded by horror, his expression looked…peaceful. The pained lines had smoothed, and if it wasn’t for the LED, he could have looked like he was just in rest mode…

“C’mon,” Gavin suggested, holding out a hand but wisely not touching either of them. “You don’t need to be down here.”

“Yes, I do…”

Gavin groaned quietly and stood up off his knees. His knees audibly cracked as he straightened up, and he kept his voice low. “Why? You know that isn’t—Our Connor’s just upstairs—“

“This was still somebody,” Person said distantly, getting more comfortable on the floor, making it clear that she wasn’t leaving. “And I promised him that I’d stay with him…So I’m gonna stay with him until they…until they come to take him…Okay?”

Gavin outranked her. He could order her out of this room. She couldn’t offer any stronger argument to make him let her stay down here…Only that she knew she would pull her gun and threaten him if he tried to make her leave 39 alone down here. He had been alone down here long enough. Not a second more, not if she could help it.

“All right,” he conceded, eying the distressed officer for only a second longer before looking over to Chris. “I can get somebody else down here to hold the scene until the, uh, coroner? Android coroner? Until he gets here.”

“That’s okay,” Chris stated. “I can…stay down here with her. I can handle it.”

Whatever they said after that, Person let it fade to white noise. Instead, she tucked the jacket a little closer around 39. His head tilted toward her, his forehead brushing her bicep. She gulped against the thick ball of sorrow that wedged itself in her chest at the warm weight of him. She closed her eyes, letting the tears gathered there break down her cheeks. She dipped her head, pressing her lips to his temple at his hairline.

“I’m sorry we were so late, but we’re here now,” she whispered. “You can rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The subject of Connors 1-50 was addressed in my fic "The Breathing Graveyard."
> 
> Like the chapter "Explosion," this is set at a point in the future of my fic "Camaraderie."
> 
> The next chapter will be significantly lighter and with lower stakes.


	10. Unconscious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, androids can sleepwalk. Hank wished somebody had told him that. Now he has to corral a feverish Connor into going back to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so…There’s no easy way to follow the previous chapter. So I’m just jumping right back in with something more lighthearted, because I tapped out on the sads yesterday, and I just don’t want to do that two days in a row. 
> 
> That being said, this chapter is the third installment of the thrilling tale of “Connor on pain killers.” First was Chapter 8 of my fic “Camaraderie,” titled “TLC.” Second was Chapter 3 of this fic, titled “Delirium.” Now we have this one. That’s right, it’s a trilogy now. It’s a goddamn saga of Connor being high as balls. Because I wanted to laugh today, and I hope you get a chuckle out of this too. Enjoy.

If the sound of the radio booming to life at the tender hour of 3am ended up giving Hank a heart attack, he was going to sue Britney Spears.

_“Cause to lose all my senses…That is just so typically me!”_

Yet, there she was.

Hank snapped awake and then groaned as the rest of his body woke up just as violently.

_“Oh baby, baby!”_

He threw off the blankets and clamored to his feet, practically feeling the walls rattle around him as the radio in the living room roared. It only got worse when he opened the bedroom door.

_“Oops, I did it again! I played with your heart…Got lost in the game.”_

He hurried down the hallway in socked feet, skidding slightly on the floor as he reached the radio in the living room.

_“Oops, you think I’m in love…That I’m sent from aboooooove…”_

In the semi darkness, he pawed at the radio until his hand hit one of the dials.

_“I’m not. That. Innocent!”_

“Shut up!” he growled, smacking the power button.

Silence plunged across the living room, and the panic that had sent him flying out of bed ebbed enough for the aftermath of the abrupt movements to register all over his body. Hank huffed, putting a hand at his back and leaning against the wall of the kitchen as he caught his breath.

“Jesus…Jesus fucking Christ…Connor?” he wheezed, squinting in the dark living room.

He could see well enough to make out the empty shape of the couch, the blanket and pillows left abandoned, and a big puddle where the ice bag had hit the floor, busted, and then melted. Sumo was sitting up in his bed against the wall, watching Hank curiously.

“Shit.”

Fortunately, it didn’t take long to find Connor.

The android was standing in the kitchen, directly in front of the open door of the refrigerator. He looked dopey enough in his pajamas, just an old Star Trek t-shirt and red basketball shorts, and staring into the fridge like the little light in the back held all the secrets of the universe.

“Connor?” Hank heard water running, and he hurried into the kitchen to see that the faucet was running full blast. “What the Hell…”

He stepped around Connor and turned off the faucet, finding a light switch on the wall and illuminating the kitchen. Connor didn’t react at all, just standing like an idiot in front of the fridge, eyes half lidded and his mouth hanging open like a zombie.

Hank came to a stop beside him and snapped his fingers in front of his eyes. Nothing.

“Hmph.” He waved his hand and got the same amount of nothing in response. He slowly turned his hand over and touched Connor’s forehead. He felt hot. “Ah, kid…”

The technician had warned him that some mild overheating might happen after the repairs Connor had gone through the previous afternoon. When Hank had gone to bed at eleven, Connor had been asleep on the couch, maybe a little warm but not what he’d call feverish, and had a big ice bag over his thirium pump for precaution. He’d been high as a kite from the time Tina and Person brought him home to the time he finally went into rest mode, only waking up occasionally to ask Hank some of the most batshit things that he had ever heard.

Between that and whatever the Hell he was looking at now, Hank was going to have a few words with the technicians who designed that new android anesthetic…pain killer…whatever bullshit. He wasn’t sure whether to call this delirium or sleepwalking…Either way, the lights were not on upstairs, he could tell that much by looking into his friend’s eyes.

“Connor,” he put some authority into his tone. “Go back to bed.”

Connor just stared through him, audibly breathing as his ventilation program tried to cool him off.

“You’re not well, kiddo. Go back to bed.” Hank pointed to the couch for emphasis.

Connor continued to stare into another dimension, though his LED spun from blue to yellow for one cycle, before—

_“YOOO I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want—“ _ the radio screamed back to life, giving Hank his second near-heart attack of the night.

“Fucking Hell, Connor, seriously?”

_“So tell me what you want, what you really, really want!”_ the radio sang loudly.

Hank stomped back over to the radio.

_“I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really, want!”_

Hank smacked the off button again.

_“So tell me what you want, what you really—“_ It cut off mid lyric.

“I WANT,” Hank spun back around, “for you to get your ass back on the couch.”

When Connor rose to no such demand, Hank grumbled and marched back over. He was so used to Connor stepping out of the way when he got too close, that he nearly ran right into him. As it was, his proximity sensors were alert enough to make his body take a delayed step back. Hank shoved the fridge door shut and then got behind Connor, planting his hands on his shoulders.

“Move it.” He pushed lightly at his back to make him move.

Connor may as well have been a brick wall for all the give he had in his body. Hank ran a frustrated hand through his hair, sighed, and decided to go with the route he hated, but what he knew would be effective.

“RK800, receive instructions,” he stated loudly.

Facing away from him, Connor’s frame visibly straightened, and he finally spoke.

“Authorization Code?” his voice had no inflection, no tone, sounding every bit like the damn machine that he hadn’t been in nearly two years.

Hank sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Lieutenant Hank Anderson, Code 092329.”

He watched Connor’s LED whirl another cycle of yellow, and then the android nodded once.

“Confirmed. Prepared to receive instructions.” The soulless, flat sound of his voice made Hank’s skin crawl.

Even before the revolution, Connor hadn’t been this robotic. Hank hated it, but Connor seemed to be fully functional and operating aside from…from being asleep as far as he could guess…He had to jog him out of this before he hurt himself or did some other damage.

Resigned to it, Hank stepped up to stand in Connor’s line of sight. “Go lie down on the couch and reboot. Now. That’s an order.”

Immediately, Connor was turning away from the refrigerator and taking long, even strides over to the living room. Hank followed closely behind him, just in case his programming decided to make him walk out the front door instead…or worse, THROUGH the front door.

Instead, obediently, Connor reached the couch, turned around, and stiffly sat down on it. He promptly laid down along the length of it, closed his eyes, and went limp as he rebooted his entire system. That gave Hank about five minutes to figure out what the entire fuck to do…

He plucked up the mushy bag of ice water and carried it into the kitchen, dropping it in the sink to deal with later. He grabbed up a few kitchen towels and mopped up the puddle in front of the couch, before tossing them in the sink too. He double checked that Connor, in his thoroughly unconscious but still mobile state, hadn’t fucked around with anything else in the house like…putting cereal boxes in the oven or taking down all of the curtains in the house…both such things that Hank’s ex-wife had done on separate occasions when she had slept walked at their old house.

Connor was just starting to twitch and sigh as he came back online when Hank refilled another ice bag, carrying it into the living room. He set it on the coffee table and sat down on the edge of the table himself. The rigidity had sapped out of Connor’s body as he came back around, and he was back to looking like any other sick guy slumped on the couch, feeling tired and hot and shitty.

“Hank?” he spoke before opening his eyes, his brow pinching together.

“Yeah, right here,” Hank answered tiredly, feeling his forehead again, then his neck and his chest, over where his thirium pump was. “You know where you are?”

“Home?” Connor struggled his eyes open, blinking blearily up at Hank.

Mercifully, his eyes were focused this time, and they stayed on Hank as he stared at him in confusion.

“You asking me, or telling me?” Hank prompted. “You were sleepwalking. Since when do androids sleepwalk?”

Connor’s eyes widened. “I…was?”

“Motherfucker, you were blasting Britney Spears and the goddamn Spice Girls in here. I hope to fuck you were sleepwalking, otherwise what the Hell?”

Connor slowly lifted a hand to cover his mouth, though the crinkling near the corners of his eyes gave away the amused grin he was trying to hide.

“You think this is funny? Are you still high?” Hank tried to stay gruff, though his hands were gentle as he slid the ice bag over Connor’s chest. “Hold that.”

Connor used his free hand to situate the bag better over his overheating core, and he exhaled in a short snort. “Sorry, Hank…I wasn’t…aware I was doing that.”

“That’s usually how sleepwalking works,” Hank muttered, losing the battle with staying irritated, and smirked. “They really gave you the good drugs, huh?”

“Apparently.”

Hank chuckled at that, patting Connor’s shoulder. “How’s your system temperature?”

Connor paused as he ran a diagnostic. “It peaked at a hundred and three point four—“

“Fucking Hell, I’m sorry, Connor. I should have been checking on you—“

“That’s unnecessary—“

“What if Zombie You had decided to leave the house? Drive the car?”

Connor slouched a bit, casting his eyes to the edge of the coffee table. “You’ve made your point. I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t—Don’t apologize,” Hank sighed and gave him a onceover. “Feeling better? You still look like shit—“

A yellow LED, and then the radio was snapping back to life.

_“—Color my hair. Do what I dare. Oh, oh, oh! I wanna be free, yeah. Feel the way I feel!...Man, I feel like a woman.”_

It just as abruptly clicked itself off that time, and Hank looked from Connor, to the radio, and back to Connor.

“I didn’t…mean to do that,” Connor confessed, looking slightly embarrassed. “I’m having difficulty…focusing…I might still be under the influence of the pain killers.”

Hank snorted, chuckled, and then kicked back a bit with a full laugh. “Might?” He cackled and shook his head. “Well, now Shania has made her appearance too…Anybody else you want to invite to the party?”

“What…party?”

Hank rubbed a hand over his own face, the combination of the late hour and the ridiculous circumstances making him feel loopy too.

“Nevermind. What’s your temperature now?”

“One hundred even,” Connor reported, exhaustion sliding back over his face and into his voice as well. “And…dropping.”

Hank saw him starting to fade, and he patted his knee, standing up and returning to the kitchen. He made up two more smaller ice bags and brought them into the living room. He planted one over Connor’s forehead, letting him situate it however he wanted as he slid the second one under the back of his neck.

“I’m perfectly stable, Hank. You can go back to bed. I’m sorry I woke you,” Connor was mumbling now.

Hank untangled the abandoned blanket, dropping it over Connor’s legs, in easy reach if he got a chill later on.

“No chance, pal. I’m gonna park it over there in the recliner, just to make sure you don’t sleepwalk again and decide to remove all the lightbulbs in the house.”

“Why would I—“

Hank waved a hand, and Connor fell quiet, watching him as Hank turned off the kitchen light and turned on a small lamp in the living room to see by. Sumo watched him as well, the big lug never getting up during all the commotion. Hank got comfortable in the recliner and gave Connor a thumb up gesture.

“Go to sleep, son…And, hey…I’ve got a rule in this house, that when you’re sick, you get to watch what you want and listen to whatever music you want. So…go nuts.” He waved at the dark television. “I’ve slept through worse than 90s pop music, and if that’s what makes you feel better, go ahead. Just…keep it under a dull roar next time.”

Connor made a low, noncommittal noise, and Hank watched him wiggle around on the couch briefly. He found a more comfortable position on his side, curling around the bag of ice at his chest. He closed his eyes with a sigh, and the blue of his LED began to slow as he re-entered rest mode.

God, he was ridiculous.

Hank smiled and felt a rush of warm affection for the kid.

Sumo yawned loudly and lay his head back down with a soft sigh, going back into his own rest mode.

The LED spun yellow once, and this time Hank braced himself. Fortunately, the radio came awake much more quietly, playing the same old station as before, but with more mercy on his ears.

_“—no love from me. Hangin' out the passenger side of his best friend's ride, trying to holla at me…I don't want no scrub…”_

“If I wake up with this stuck in my head, you’re walking to work,” Hank mumbled playfully.

On the couch, without opening his eyes, Connor gave a tiny grin. Hank caught it and smirked, settling in to spend the rest of the night keeping an eye on his ill friend, to the soundtrack of his teenage years.

Fucking ridiculous.


	11. Stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank has had a bad day. The only mistake Connor made was trying to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this one is late. I had it mostly written yesterday but ran out of oomph and couldn't finish it. Came at it fresh this morning and...I still don't know if I like it or not. You all be the judge XD I had a few requests for some Hank whumpage, so this is what I got.

It was…It was just a perfect storm of shit, is what it was.

Between today being…the date that it was…and busting some red ice junkie making a disturbance at a hardware store…and the eventual altercation resulting in Hank getting a good slice across his arm after falling onto some digging equipment…Today had just been Hell. Then he had managed to go and make it worse by snapping at Connor. If he hadn’t felt like shit enough, then that hurt look on his partner’s face had sure done the trick.

Well…Hank had TOLD him to just leave him alone, what, a half dozen times since they left the hospital? Hank had had worse than a scraped up arm. He didn’t need or want to be hovered over and fretted at, but unfortunately that’s what Connor had been priming to do.

Dammit, he didn’t know how to make an android understand the concept of needing space, of getting…tired of being around the same person all the time. Not without making the guy feel like utter shit, which seemed to be what Hank had done here anyway. But Hell, they worked together all day, and after work they went home to the same house, or they went out somewhere…usually together. It was just…too much after a while, but apparently how dare he want some time to himself…

Those were Hank’s grumblings as he sat at the kitchen table, awkwardly changing the dressing on his arm one-handed, since he had gone and run off the one person who had tried to help him with this. The stitches holding the wound closed were dark against his skin, like something out of a horror movie. He hated looking at it, but he made do. Once he’d cleaned it off, he stretched it out as best he could on the table, letting it breathe a bit before he’d attempt to rewrap it.

Sumo had followed Connor out into the backyard. Disloyal mutt.

While trying to avoid looking at the new laceration painting a red line on his forearm, his eyes snagged on the older scar, running at a slightly sharper angle, bisected by the new injury. It had faded to a pale line, hardly noticeable most of the time except when the light hit his arm just right…like it was now…like it had always seemed to do on this day, every year for the past four years.

Four years…fuck.

Hank grimaced and swallowed against a dry throat. He rubbed his good hand over his face, resisting the urge to dig out the old bottle of bourbon that he’d stashed in his closet…the only alcohol he had left in the house. He ran his eyes over the old scar, feeling the long gone physical pain of it like it had happened yesterday. He’d needed stitches then too.

Jogging himself out of those thoughts before he started digging a hole, Hank grabbed up the gauze and started to wrangle new wrappings around his arm. It was ugly, but he managed to wrap it up enough to call it good. He taped down the end and left the first aid kit open on the table. He drummed his fingers on the table and gave a heavy sigh, looking toward the back door.

Time to slap a bandaid on something else now.

Suddenly exhausted, Hank hauled himself out of the chair and lumbered to the back door, pushing it open and squinting in the waning dusk that was darkening the yard. He spotted Connor by the yellow of his LED, standing over by the wooden fence that he shared with the neighbor’s property. Sumo was sitting next to him, ears up and tongue hanging out. With a resigned sigh, Hank started to make his way over slowly.

A little green ball lobbed over the fence from the neighbor’s side. It was the size of a softball and had flashing orange and pink lights. Connor caught it as if he’d been expecting it, then just as smoothly tossed the ball back over. Hank could see movement through the fence, probably Sofie, the neighbor’s six year old daughter who’d taken a liking to Connor over the summer. The giggles on the other side of the fence confirmed it, and then the green ball was whizzing over again. Connor had to take a step back and stretch his arm a little farther to catch it this time, a thin smile on his face as he grabbed it out of the air.

The act of catching it turned him enough to see Hank coming, and his posture visibly lost its animation. He stilled, expression flattening, and he turned back toward the fence. He said something, Hank was too far away to hear what, but when he tossed the ball back over, this time the ball didn’t come back. All that came through the fence was the little girl yelling out.

“Okay, good night, Connor!” It was followed by the noise of a windbreaker jacket rubbing against itself as the girl skipped back to her own house to go inside for the night.

The distance wasn’t far, but it was a long walk before Hank got close enough to start speaking.

“Hey,” he began.

Nice opening, Anderson, he scolded himself.

“Hello,” was Connor’s low response. “How is—“

He tensed, cutting himself off from asking, and remained facing the fence, awkwardly folding his arms around himself.

“Arm’s fine,” Hank answered anyway, eying the white bandages on his forearm. “Okay, hey, look, sorry for snapping at you. You didn’t deserve that.”

“…I was only trying to help…” Connor stated quietly, LED remaining yellow. “I assumed that tending to your injury would require two hands, but you…clearly managed it by yourself. My help wasn’t needed, and I shouldn’t have…gotten in the way…”

“Christ.” Hank pinched the skin between his eyes. “You weren’t in the way. I was just—It’s been a Hell of a day, Connor, and sometimes humans need some space…”

“You made that abundantly clear, Lieutenant.”

Hank blinked. Connor hadn’t called him by title in over a year. Now that he was closer, he could see that it wasn’t just hurt feelings making Connor all stiff like he was. He was irritated with Hank too. Which made sense, but something about seeing it only served to rankle Hank all over again.

“Give me a break, kid,” he said. “Don’t take it personally. Friends, family, you make any two people exist around each other for damn near twenty four hours a day, they’re eventually gonna drive each other crazy. We just finally reached that point.”

“You reached that point,” Connor muttered. “I’m a machine, what do I know?” Before Hank could come up with a smart retort, Connor turned and faced him fully, arms still tightly folded. “I did what you asked. I ‘left you the fuck alone for five goddamn minutes’ like you asked,” he said, biting out Hank’s own earlier words at him. “I gave you the entire house for all that space you said you wanted, and yet you came and found me out here. So which is it, Lieutenant?”

The anger was new, and that should have been a relief actually. It was easier for Hank to argue than to comfort. It was safer. And today, of all days, Hank wanted to just lean into that anger. Some ugly part of him wanted to make Connor angrier, make him snap, make him scream at him, just to give Hank justification to scream back, to get it out of his own system. Because he was so angry, and it was goddamn fucking October 11th, and he needed to scream.

But all too easily he saw the hurt that was fueling the anger in Connor’s eyes, and it diverted all of his own anger at the world straight inward, back onto himself. Connor hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d only been trying to help. He was always trying to help. He was just cursed to be friends with a human disaster like Hank Anderson. God help the poor bastard.

He was taking too long to answer.

Connor let out a harsh noise of anger, rolled his eyes, and brushed past Hank, stepping a direct path back to the house. Sumo keened and got on his feet, though he looked torn between following Connor and staying with Hank. Hank narrowed his eyes and went after his partner.

“Hey…” He followed him through the back door, into the living room.

Connor came to an abrupt stop in the living room, swiveling in a sharp 180 degree turn to face Hank. He looked suddenly livid, and it was startling enough to stop Hank in his tracks.

“What are you doing, Hank?” he demanded. He threw an arm toward the back door. “You don’t want me in the house with you; I go outside. You follow me out into the yard; I come back in the house. I don’t understand what you want from me. Where is there left to be that is acceptable? I don’t have anywhere else to go!”

At those words, the anger evaporated. It left something heavier in its wake, weighing down on Hank’s chest as he watched Connor trying to stand his ground. The kid looked determined to be angry, but there was a tremor in his limbs that betrayed what he was really feeling.

“All right,” Hank said in an even tone, trying to blot away some of the tension hanging in the air. “You don’t gotta go anywhere. That’s not what I meant by space—I only meant—“ He scowled at himself, briefly looking away. He composed himself before looking back at his friend. “You know what today is?”

Connor remained still. “I do.”

Of course he did. Hank sighed.

“Then just…cut me a little slack today, okay? Please?”

Connor stared at him for a long moment before the panic that had locked up his limbs seemed to finally ease. “Only if you do the same.”

Hank relaxed a bit, tilting his head back and following through with a short nod. “Okay. Deal.”

There was a quiet beat that passed, not entirely without tension still, and he hastened to break it before it stretched into a long silence. He walked over to the back door and let Sumo back in, grabbing a can of soda from the fridge on his way back. Sumo plodded into the living room, willfully oblivious to the lingering tension, and flopped on the floor in front of the couch. Hank sat in the recliner, popping open the soda and picking up the remote.

“Well, uh…okay…You-You wanna watch the game?”

Connor stayed where he was. “I don’t want to…intrude on your space.”

“Shit, kid…” Hank rubbed his thumb over his forehead. “This is your home, Connor, for as long as you want it to be. Just…crawl down out of my ass sometimes, okay?”

Connor seemed to contemplate that, and then he slowly stepped around the couch. Instead of sitting on the furniture, he carefully lowered himself to the floor to sit beside Sumo instead. The dog wiggled closer, immediately dropping his big head over Connor’s leg. That was enough to drain the rest of the stiffness out of the android’s frame, and he leaned back against the front of the couch, rubbing Sumo’s ears.

“All right,” Hank said with a tone of finality, clicking on the television and finding the game channel.

The sound of a basketball dribbling and sneakers squeaking on hard wood squashed the white noise of the living room, and Hank tried to get comfortable.

That could have been handled better, he knew, but…dammit, he’d tried. Today that was about the best he could do, and he hoped Connor understood that. Like the stitches and his botched bandage job, it was ugly, but at the very least, it was damage control. Sitting in the television glow of an uncomfortable living room with his closest friend, still smarting from words spoken in anger…but it wasn’t the end of the world.

He’d had worse Octobers.


	12. "Don't Move"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben talks to an injured Connor to keep him calm while they wait for android emergency services to arrive.

Two people had fallen off that third floor fire escape, but an ambulance only arrived for one of them. The delay between calling for human medical services and for calling android emergency services had been significant enough that now, Connor had to remain where he was, lying on the ground, trying to see through the haze of warning text listing the accumulated damage across his vision, while listening to paramedics tend to the unconscious human a few feet away.

Ben, the only other cop at the scene when it had happened, hadn’t moved from his spot since he reached them. He stayed knelt on one knee, keeping a hand on Connor’s shoulder, trying to keep up conversation while they waited.

“I still c-can’t run a self diiiiagnostic,” Connor stated, visibly struggling to speak clearly.

Ben nodded. “That’s okay. AES will be here in a minute, and they’ll get you sorted out. How you feeling, bud?”

Connor wheezed and closed his eyes briefly. “There’s…damage.”

When he opened his eyes, Ben could see his gaze darting side to side, trying to dismiss all those red warnings. Ben grimaced and looked around. It was just them in the alley between the two buildings: two paramedics tending to the unconscious human suspect who had fled from police, and Ben just trying to keep Connor awake and calm until his own help arrived.

“D-D-Doesn’t hurrrrt at least,” Connor was saying, his jaw twitching enough to make his teeth chatter.

“Are you cold?” Ben asked, lightly placing a hand over Connor’s chest. “You feel hot.”

Connor frowned at his chattering teeth. “I d-don’t know w-why I’m…” He coughed once, and that seemed to reset enough to make the twitching stop. “My internallll temperature is a hundr…” He grimaced and tried again. “A hundr…Hun…”

“You’re overheating,” Ben supplied for him. “Can you breathe okay?”

Connor started to nod, but Ben put a hand to the side of his head to stop him.

“Hey, don’t move. We don’t know the full extent of the damage. Don’t make something worse by moving.”

Connor’s eyes widened a little at that, and Ben managed a smile.

“I’m not trying to scare you, kiddo, sorry. Let’s just minimize movement, all right?”

“Okay.”

“There we go,” Ben smiled more warmly as the sound of the paramedics behind him floated over.

“Pulse and breathing are stable,” one was saying.

“Lucky son of a gun—“ the second mumbled.

“Ready for transport,” the first one spoke over her colleague.

Connor closed his eyes, his brow pinching slightly as he endured the discomfort of the concrete ground under his battered body. Ben grimaced, noting the moisture collecting in the corners of the android’s eyes, not breaking free yet.

“Hey,” he said softly, giving his shoulder light touch. “I bet it isn’t even that bad. You feel this?”

Connor drew a steadying breath and opened his eyes. “Yes.”

Ben nodded and reached out, touching both of Connor’s wrists at his sides. “This?”

“Yes.”

He reached back, doing the same for Connor’s ankles. “How about this?”

“Yes…What are you doing?”

“Running my own diagnostic,” Ben chirped, moving back into Connor’s limited line of sight. “You can still feel everything. You’re breathing okay. You’re coherent. All good boxes that I can check off so far.”

Behind him, the paramedics hefted the limp man onto a stretcher, to be wheeled over to the waiting ambulance…Then they’d be gone, taking their patient to the hospital.

Damn, where were those technicians?

Connor coughed again, this time with a low moan of discomfort. Ben’s insides twisted; he hated how helpless he felt right now. Until android emergency services got here, and without Connor’s self diagnostic to help pin down had bad it was, all they could do was sit still and wait.

The heat coming off Connor’s torso was getting worse, and Ben leaned back onto his knee, preparing to stand.

“Let me see if they have anything I can use to tide you over until AES gets here.” He patted Connor’s arm and got to his feet.

Connor’s eyes went wide in direct correlation to Ben standing, and fear ran rampant across his face.

“D-Don’t leave me…please.”

“I’m not,” Ben assured with as much sincerity as he could push into his voice. “I promise. I’m gonna get some supplies from the ambulance before they take off, and I will be right back. Okay?”

“Ok-ay,” Connor’s voice hitched.

Ben gave him a meaningful nod and then hurried after the paramedics, loading their patient into the back of the vehicle.

“Hey,” he interrupted, staying out of their way. “What you got in there that I can help my friend with until AES arrives?”

The nearer paramedic paused as his colleague kept working on their patient. “We only got human supplies, Officer. We don’t have any thirium or—“

“Just gimme something,” Ben asked. “He’s overheating, might have some damage to his spinal structure…He’s scared and he’s hurting, come on.”

“Lang,” the first paramedic reprimanded her colleague, where she was bent over the patient. “We gotta go.”

Lang, however, hesitated. Then he was rummaging into one of the drawers on the ambulance wall. He yanked out a few bricks of cooling compresses, an oxygen mask with a small portable tank attached to it by a line, and a blue neck brace.

“You know how to set this up?” Lang asked, holding out the oxygen apparatus.

“Yeah.” Ben took the offered items. “Thank you.”

“Lang!” the medic barked.

Lang stood up, grasping the ambulance door. “AES is five minutes out. Can he hold on that long?”

“Yes,” Ben said, taking a step back. “He’s a tough son of a bitch.”

“Fuck’s sake—“ The second medic leaned into view, yanking on Lang’s shirt sleeve. “We’ve got a HUMAN patient to transport. Get your act together. Let’s GO!”

Lang returned to his patient’s side, shooting Ben an apologetic glance. Ben used his free hand to close the ambulance door, but not before getting a look at the other medic’s name badge: Morris. Stowing that away, he watched the ambulance hurry away from the alley, aiming toward the hospital.

One of the passersby who had stopped during the commotion took a timid step closer. She was just a teenager, still holding a takeout bag with food that had to have long gone cold. “Can I help?”

Ben wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “An AES ambulance is on its way. Make sure they see us.”

She nodded and took a post on the sidewalk outside the alley, looking frantically back and forth for any sign of the coming ambulance. Ben hastened back to Connor, still lying alone on the dirty ground, panting slightly as his systems overworked to compensate for the damage.

“Hey, hey, I’m back,” Ben said, dropping to his knees and setting down the supplies. “Connor?”

Connor blinked up at him, his LED still yellow with interspersing red. His eyes were blinking out of sync, with one eye never completely closing or opening all the way. “Ben?”

“Yeah, buddy, look what I got.” He beamed, breaking one of the compresses and flexing it until it turned cold. “Hey, can you count to ten for me?”

“W-Why would I—“

“For fun, how about it?” he prompted, unbuttoning the front of Connor’s shirt and setting the cold compress over his upper chest.

Connor shuddered and coughed again. “F-Fine…One…two…three…fiv—four…four…five…”

“Good job,” Ben praised lightly, hooking up the oxygen mask to the tank and gently fitting it over Connor’s mouth and nose.

Cool oxygen flowed down the tube from the tank to the mask, and breathing it in hopefully helped Connor’s system regulate his temperature. That was the thought anyway. Ben took up the foam neck brace then and carefully situated the collar around Connor’s neck. Whether that would do any good or not, he didn’t know, but it made him feel better to see the kid’s neck supported after a fall like that.

“I see it!” the teenager called from the mouth of the alley. She stepped out toward the street, waving her arms just in case the ambulance might have missed them.

“Here that?” Ben said, setting the second busted cold compress lower on Connor’s belly this time. “They’re almost here. That’s good news.”

“…Yes…” Connor tried to keep blinking, and some of the moisture broke away from his fully functioning eye.

The tear rolled across his temple and into his hair, and Ben made a low noise, reaching down and brushing it away with his thumb.

“Hey, none of that now. You checked all my good boxes, remember? You’ve been through worse than this. This is a piece of cake,” he said, trying to encourage him.

“I’m still…” Connor spoke through the mask, suddenly looking so much like a damn kid that Ben wanted to just scoop him up and hold him. “…Scared. What if—“

“Now, you know better than anybody that the ‘What If’ game has no winners, so don’t even go there,” Ben remarked, putting his hand back on Connor’s shoulder. “It’s all right to be scared, but you’re going to be fine. And I’m staying right here with you, okay?”

The ambulance rolled to a hasty stop outside the alley, and two technicians flew out of the back, armed with supply bags and making a beeline for them.

“Thanks…Ben,” Connor wheezed.

Ben swallowed and nodded, giving his shoulder a strengthening squeeze. “You got it, Connor.”


	13. Adrenaline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In hindsight, maybe the first rollercoaster that Connor ever rode shouldn't have been one called the Soul Snatcher. In Tina's defense, it would be a funny story to tell later...much later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk, my dudes. At this point, I feel like I'm just spinning the Genre Roulette Wheel over here XD

The rollercoaster made its final turn, straightening out on the track and coasting back to the starting point. Like everybody else strapped into it, Tina was giddy and wheezing slightly as the attendants started unbuckling everybody from the seats. She blew her hair out of her face and turned her head to look at Connor in the seat on her right. She still didn’t know how she had managed to convince him to get on this ride with her, but God, she must have been good.

Connor didn’t move his head, but he did shift his eyes to meet hers and give her a shaky grin. Then he closed his eyes and tilted his head back, breathing in measured pulls. Tina cackled and reached over, swatting his leg.

“Congrats! You popped your rollercoaster cherry, my guy!”

The attendant freed her from her seat, and she hopped off, picking her way back to the landing and out of the way of the next round of riders. Oh, she couldn’t wait to grab the picture that the camera snapped of them on that last drop. She knew she had to look insane, and Connor…She hadn’t actually heard him scream or anything during the ride, but maybe she had been screaming enough for both of them.

“Ma’am?” the attendant called after her. “I think your friend needs some help.”

Tina stopped and glanced back. Connor was standing on wobbly legs, holding onto both the side of the seat rail and the attendant’s arm for stability. His LED was red, and he was staring at the ground a few feet ahead of him, as though to will himself into walking. With a snort, Tina hopped back over to him.

“Whoa, big guy, you okay?” she asked, easing Connor’s grip from the seat rail to her arm to support him. She looked at the attendant as they got him walking. “First timer.”

The attendant’s eyebrows rose, and he pointedly looked back at the multiple twists, turns, upside downs, and sheer vertical drops of the ride that they’d just left. Well, it WAS called the Soul Snatcher. With a name like that, it had to deliver a pretty good thrill.

“You might be a bad friend,” he stated, then to Connor, “There’s a step here, careful.”

Connor just nodded shakily, and the two of them helped him step up onto the solid concrete landing beside the ride’s tracks. Tina gave the attendant a nod to say she had it under control, and the attendant gave her a flat look before returning to his duties.

Tina let Connor lean heavily on her, feeling how truly unsteady he was from the ride. A pang of guilt wiggled through her chest, and she frowned, guiding him away from the crowd and over to a bench outside the barriers surrounding the ride.

“Okay, let’s, uh, let’s have a seat right here,” she prompted.

She kept her hands on him until he was sitting on the bench, and she encouraged him to lean forward with his forearms on his knees and his head lowered to get his breath back.

“You all right?” she asked, using her hand as a fan to waft more air toward his face.

“Fine, just…spinning…light headed…Gyroscope is…having to recalibrate,” he answered haltingly.

Tina pursed her lips and squatted down in front of him, giving his arm a brief rub. “Sorry, man. I didn’t think—I’ve been riding these things since I was tall enough to get on ‘em. They’re very safe; I mean, you got access to all the statistics of every ride in this whole park, so I know you know that—“

“I know it isn’t…logical to be reacting this way,” he stated, closing his eyes and breathing. “But here I fucking am, I guess.”

That sentence was so unexpected that she snorted, put a hand to her mouth to squash it, and then patted his arm. Some yellow was mixing into the red at his temple, and she sighed with some relief.

“Humans are insane,” he muttered. “Why do you subject yourselves to something so horrible?”

“It’s a rush,” Tina said with a simple shrug. “For the thrill, the adrenaline, because it’s fun.”

“Insane,” he repeated, rubbing his face with one hand.

“Yeah, well…” Tina glanced at the ride, then back to Connor. “How’s the gyroscope?”

“The world is…no longer spinning,” he updated her, though he kept his eyes closed still, just in case.

“Will you be good here for a second? I need to go grab something, but I’ll be right back.”

“Is it my…dignity? I think I left it somewhere on the third loop,” he grunted.

Tina snorted and stood up, lightly patting the top of his head. “I’ll check Lost and Found for that while I’m over there.”

“…I hate you.”

“Yeah, I know,” she tutted and hurried back over to the ride.

She quickly got the printout of the picture including the two of them, and she was just taking it out of the little envelope as she returned to the bench. Connor had graduated to sitting up and had cautiously opened his eyes. He was deliberately avoiding watching too many of the people rushing to and fro, instead watching a maintenance crew work on a piece of fencing, a fairly fixed point in the fray to use as an anchor.

Mercifully, some blue was now cycling into the yellow of his LED, so Tina guessed that the worst of his reaction had passed. Giving him a few more moments to collect himself, Tina sat down beside him and set her eyes upon the picture.

God, it was even better than she’d imagined.

Of course, there Tina was, hair spiraling around her head, clutching the harness over her shoulders with white knuckles, mouth so wide open that she had a double chin, eyes nearly bugging out of her head, screaming.

Right next to her, perfectly juxtaposed, was Connor. He was rigid in the seat, hands wrapped around the front of the seat, expression completely set in a picture of nonchalance…except his eyes. His eyes were staring DIRECTLY into the camera, and they were WIDE. His windswept hair was covering his LED, but his eyes were so big that she didn’t have to guess what color it had been.

“Oh my god,” she cackled with glee.

“What,” Connor asked flatly, not looking at her yet.

“So I didn’t find your dignity back there, but I did find THIS.” She flourished the printout in front of him.

Connor glanced at the picture, grimaced, and pinched his eyes closed. “Oh god…”

“I know!” she wheezed, sliding the image back into a protective envelope and stuffing it into her purse. “Hey, it could have been worse. You didn’t throw up or pass out.”

“…I suppose there is that,” he conceded.

Tina drummed her fingers over her knees. A beat passed, and she chanced a look more directly at him.

“We can go if you want. If you don’t feel well, we can get out of here.”

“No,” he quickly assured. “I’m okay, just…maybe no more of…that.” He gestured blindly to the ride without looking back at it.

“That’s fair,” she nodded. “There’s a whole section of this place that’s all carnival style games. There’s an arcade too. Plenty of things to do while keeping our feet on the ground…Oh! Let’s go see Madame Luna!”

“Who?”

“She’s a psychic, had a shop here for YEARS. Palm reader, fortune telling, tarot cards, the works.”

“You aren’t serious.”

“Oh, it’s all bullshit, of course, but it’s fun. And it involves sitting down on a solid surface.”

“I’m not opposed to that.”

Tina got to her feet, moving slowly at the same speed as Connor as he gingerly stood. When the world didn’t spin around him, he gave her a nod, and she started to lead the way to Madame Luna’s.

“After this, I want to see you take on that BB Gun challenge. If you don’t win the giant blue gorilla, I will be supremely disappointed in you, Connor,” she chirped.

Connor was eying the gaudy exterior of the psychic’s establishment. “What is the point of this if you don’t even believe—“

“I just want to see her try to read your palm that’s all.” She smiled. “I’m gonna bet you are either going to…come into a large sum of money or…there is peril in your future.”

Connor snorted and held the door open for her, gesturing for her to go first. “Maybe the peril will result from coming into a large sum of money.”

“Ooh, nice. If that’s the case, bequeath me something cool.”

“…That worker was right. You’re a bad friend.”

Tina just blew a kiss at him and sauntered into the shop. She could feel him rolling his eyes as he followed her inside.


	14. Tear-Stained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor keeps an eye on eight year old Bonny Stevens during a family emergency.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for being so patient and understanding when I can't crank one of these out every single day. Sometimes I just can't make good words, and I want to give you guys all the good words! I guess that's why they call it a 'challenge.' XD
> 
> Anyway, here's some Bonny to make up for the most recent tardiness.
> 
> For readers unfamiliar with my OC family the Stevens, they made appearances in "Bubbles," "Pen Pal Season," "Carry Forward," and a few random chapters of my prompt series "Camaraderie."

Bonny didn’t mean to fall asleep. It just sort of happened. One minute she’d been sitting on the couch next to Connor in the living room, watching one of her favorite movies, and the next, she was opening her eyes to find the room dark. The only lights were from the movie menu on the television, some kitchen light coming in from across the hall, and the blue LED on Connor’s head.

For a second, she just stayed where she was. Couldn’t remember what they were doing or how they’d ended up here…Connor had never come over to her house before…but something had…happened. She kinda pushed her thoughts away from the answer, trying to focus on something else instead…or maybe even just go back to sleep.

Unfortunately, she was awake now and couldn’t turn her brain back off. Sometime while she was out, she had scooched in closer to Connor, curling up under his arm and using him like a big, bony pillow. She could feel his heartbeat against the side of her head though. Well, thirium pump…heart…whatever. It sounded different from human hearts, kinda more of a whir than a thump, but it was close enough. The sound was low and even, and it might have pulled her back to sleep. Except she started to hear the voices, and she heard her name.

“—home later after I put Bonny to bed.” Grandma?

“That’s good to hear,” Connor replied quietly. “I took the liberty of cleaning up after—I’m sorry, I didn’t put away the pizza. Bonny requested it, but there is quite a bit left over.”

“Yeah, that’s fine, whatever,” Grandma said, sounding impatient and mad about something.

She always sounded like that whenever Connor was around or if Bonny talked about him. Without meaning to, Bonny pressed in a little closer to the warmth coming off her android friend. She just wanted to go back to sleep and not think about all this…

The tiny movement was enough to register the way Connor’s shirt was sticking to the side of her face. It felt kinda…wet. Gross. It crinkled against her cheek, and she grimaced, pulling away at the icky feeling.

“Hey,” Connor greeted softly. “Are you awake, Bonny?”

“Don’t wanna be,” she mumbled, peering open one eye.

Grandma Carla was standing in the living room, hands on her hips, purse still on her shoulder, and a sour expression on her face. She didn’t quite cover that up before Bonny caught it, though her expression moved quickly into one of those weird grownup smiles…the kind where they try to make kids like Bonny feel better by pretending everything is okay.

She sat up fully, rubbing the sticky feeling from the side of her face. Her eyes felt itchy and puffy, and there was dried snot crusted under her nose. She wiped at her face with her sleeve until she got rid of most of it. She remembered crying, not a lot…not like a baby or anything…but enough that she could see the dark patch on Connor’s shirt from it. Ugh.

“Sorry,” she muttered, sniffing once to clear her nose.

Connor looked at her, not with the same weird grownup smile as Grandma, but with his own weird android version of it. She frowned and looked over at Grandma Carla.

“Is Mom okay?” she asked.

Grandma sighed and set her purse on the other end of the couch. “Yes, sweetie. She just…got scared.”

Bonny sniffed again, unfolding her legs from her side and swinging them back over the couch, sitting up properly. “Why? Did something scary happen?”

Grandma looked tired. “Well, baby, you know we talked about how your mom saw some really scary things while she was in the military? Sometimes…sometimes she might see something or hear something now that reminds her of something scary. Even though she’s safe here, and she’s home and…”

“Has your father spoken with you about PTSD?” Connor asked as Grandma trailed away a bit.

Bonny squinted. “A little…So…what did she see or hear that made her scared?”

Grandma glared at Connor before turning softer eyes to Bonny. “We don’t know right now. Maybe she can tell us later, and we can make sure it doesn’t scare her again, okay? But tonight, you don’t need to worry about it.”

“Where is she now?” Bonny pressed.

Connor shifted a bit beside her. “When your mother had a reaction, she accidentally broke a glass and cut her hand. Your father took her to the hospital to get the injury taken care of. From what he has told me, it wasn’t serious. He’s going to bring her home later so she can recover.”

“I wanna see her.” Bonny turned in her seat, looking at them both adamantly.

Grandma looked like she wanted to throw something at Connor, like he wasn’t supposed to say that or something, and when she spoke, it was through her teeth.

“Tomorrow, Bonny. Tonight, she asked me to take care of you until she felt better, while your dad helps her, okay?”

Connor looked at her calmly. “Oliver’s texts suggested that I stay with her. I didn’t realize you were coming—“

“Bonny,” Grandma spoke over him. “Get ready for bed, honey. Wash your face, brush your teeth, and put your PJs on. I’ll be up in a minute to talk to you, all right?”

Bonny slunk off the couch and to her feet. “But—“

“Now, Bonny,” Grandma said more sternly.

Bonny sighed loudly and looked at Connor. “Don’t leave without saying bye, okay?”

“I won’t,” he said with a small smile and a wink.

Bonny smiled back and rubbed at her sore eyes again, circling the couch and heading for the stairs. She made it up two steps before she heard Grandma start speaking again, low and not meant for her to hear.

“It isn’t your place to talk to her about these things, android. It’s a family matter. You aren’t needed here. Say your goodbyes now and you can leave.”

Bonny slowed her steps, peering back into the living room. Connor was standing now, straightening his jacket and not seeming to mind all the tears and snot that Bonny had left all over his shirt.

“I promised Oliver that I would wait until they returned.”

Grandma rolled her eyes and lowered her shoulders. “They may trust machines like you, but you aren’t fooling me. I know what your kind are capable of, and I don’t want you near my granddaughter. They are my family, not yours. You don’t belong here. So go.”

Bonny’s breath stalled in her throat. Why did Grandma hate Connor so much? What did he ever do to her? What were ‘his kind’ capable of that she was so mad about? Before she could do or say anything, Connor had stepped around Grandma Carla, turning enough to clearly see Bonny frozen on the stairs, eavesdropping. His glance at her was lightning fast, and he didn’t double take as he addressed Grandma Carla.

“I’m sorry you feel that way. I will leave and let Oliver know that you’re here. I…hope that someday I will be able to earn your trust…I’m very fond of your family. They’ve been very kind to me, and I consider them close friends.”

Carla made a disbelieving noise and folded her arms. “Well, you’re programmed to say things like that. Oh…right, I should probably pay you back for the pizza and…kidsitting? I guess your time is worth money now?”

“You don’t…owe me anything for this.”

“Hmph, well fine. Go on then.” She nodded toward the stairs.

Bonny made a hasty retreat before her grandma could turn and see her listening. She made it to the second floor and hurried to make it look like she’d been in the bathroom brushing her teeth the whole time. She was just rinsing out her mouth when Connor knocked on the open door.

“Hey, I’m heading out,” he prompted.

Bonny wadded up her face towel and threw it on the floor. “Don’t listen to her! She just hates all androids, and it’s stupid. You—You are too family, and you do belong here if you want to stay. I—I’ll tell her that! She shouldn’t—“

“Okay.” Connor approached her, scooping her into a hug as she started to hiccup. “Thank you, Bonny, but I’m not upset. Please don’t be upset with your grandmother either. She only wants what’s best for you.”

Bonny sniffed angrily, rubbing at her nose again. “It’s dumb.”

“I appreciate you saying that,” he snickered and then sighed. “I have to go now, Bonny.”

Bonny’s shoulders slumped. “I know.”

She hugged him hard around the middle, squeezing until she could feel the plastic creaking. He returned the hug and then took a step back.

“Your mom is going to be okay. It’s just going to take some time, and she’s going to need your help to do that,” he assured.

She nodded. “Kay…”

“Good night, Bonny.”

“Night, Connor.” She jumped on him for another hug, which he happily reciprocated. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Still hearing her grandmother’s mean words echoing in her head, she lingered on the hug for a beat longer.

“I mean it,” she mumbled into his jacket.

“…Thank you. That…So do I.” He carefully peeled her arms off of him. “I’ll see you soon.”

“You better…” she mumbled, watching him step out of the bathroom and back down the stairs.

Grandma all but marched him to the door, and Bonny heard her lock the door after he’d left. Bonny dragged her feet into her bedroom and threw herself on the bed, listening to Grandma cleaning up the leftover pizza downstairs. She reached for the little stuffed lizard toy on her bed and pulled it to her chest, already feeling sleep pulling at her again.

Why did grownups have to be so weird?


	15. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some scars aren't physical, but that doesn't mean the damage didn't leave anything behind. Connor and Hank are all too aware of that as the ice storm rages outside.

Fall seemed to wink at Detroit as it passed by, and then it was abruptly, violently, winter. Neither Connor nor Hank held any warm feelings toward the cold that swallowed up the city, but Hank’s dislike of it and the reason why were both well known. Connor knew that his own aversion to cold weather was no secret either, but his quiet complaints blended in well enough with the rest of the bullpen’s louder whining that it didn’t raise any eyebrows as to why an android would hate cold.

Because he did. He HATED it.

Unfortunately, where the bullpen provided a level of organized chaos to hide his bad mood, the quiet of Hank’s house only drew attention to it. It certainly didn’t help that the first storm of the season had knocked out the power on the entire block, dropping the house into a dark stillness as the evening rolled into a windy night.

Ice. Ice and snow.

No television or radio to use as distraction. Not even the hum of the heater or other appliances to focus on as the cold pressed in now that the power was out.

The house creaked slightly as the wind pushed at its outside walls.

Ice and snow and wind.

Sitting on the couch, where he hadn’t moved in two hours and four minutes since the power went out, Connor continued to stare at a fixed point on the wall. Hank had been grumbling as he moved around the house, stockpiling blankets, candles, and flashlights on the coffee table. He’d also been accumulating layers of clothing every time he moved into Connor’s line of sight, but Connor didn’t fully register it. Didn’t fully see him.

With each lash of the wind against the siding and the rising shelf of snow and ice on the window sills, all Connor could see was the Garden. Its frozen pond and snow painted flowers. The walls of grey created by the biting wind. Her silhouette standing just out of his reach. Feeling her influence reach into him anyway, through him, until he had had the gun in his hands, and she had aimed his hand toward Markus that night.

Somehow, even through the blizzard, through the cold and the memories, he swore he could smell roses.

A hand touched his shoulder, and Connor startled with a full body jerk.

“Whoa!” Hank yanked his hand back, stepping around the couch. “Sorry, did you fall asleep with your eyes open or something? Been sitting there like a fucking mannequin.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice came out weak, which was odd, and he frowned, forcing it to sound stronger. “Do you need help?”

Hank stood in front of him, eying him suspiciously. He glanced at the stockpile of supplies on the coffee table and back to Connor.

“No…Coulda used that help earlier, but whatever…” he said gruffly.

Connor wasn’t sure what his response was expected to be, and his social integration program did not supply with him any options. So he just stared at Hank, slightly lost.

Hank made a low, impatient noise and shook his head, tugging out his phone and checking a weather app on it.

“Guess we’re in for a whole night of this shit…Fuck,” he mumbled, pocketing his phone and looking at Connor again. “It’s only gonna get colder in here. You got a heater in there somewhere—“ he gestured toward Connor’s chest, “—or do you need some layers?”

“My model is not as susceptible to temperature fluctuations as humans,” he replied.

“Not my question,” Hank stated. “You hate being cold almost as much as me. Here, put this on.”

Hank grabbed up a burgundy colored hoodie from the top of the pile, tossing it into Connor’s lap.

“I’m not as susceptible—“

“Just put it on. Fuck. You’re making me cold just looking at you without it.”

Connor paused and slowly obliged, pulling on the sweater. It was a few sizes too large, and the extra fabric bunched around his stomach and the elbows of the sleeves. He made little attempt to adjust it, just sinking back into the couch again. Sumo had curled up on his bed against the wall, only idly watching Hank mill around.

“Why DO you hate cold so much?” Hank asked, rubbing his hands together and pacing slowly about the living room.

“I’d rather not discuss it.”

“Tch, yeah me neither.”

Connor’s eyes dropped to the floor. He tried to will back the phantom feeling of the Garden’s icy wind pushing through the seams of his clothing, the pain of the ice striking his open eyes as he tried to find Kamski’s emergency exit, the slick of compressed snow under his feet as he struggled to walk through it. It wasn’t real, he told himself. It hadn’t been real then…and it wasn’t real now…

A particularly sharp gust of wind rattled the windows in their panes, and a shrill whistle screamed through a gap somewhere. Connor visibly flinched, unable to clamp down on the reaction fast enough.

“What is wrong with you?” Hank asked, his voice irritated but his concern still evident.

“I’m fully functional.” Connor said, realizing too late that intonation in his voice had shut itself off, causing him to sound mechanical in his reply.

“Bullshit.” Hank faced him fully. “You’re not acting like yourself.”

He crossed over and reached out a hand, giving Connor’s shoulder a light shake.

“Just loosen—“

“Don’t touch me,” Connor said in a rush, pulling his shoulder away from the hand and shrinking back into the couch.

Hank’s eyes went wide, and Connor staunchly threw his gaze into the kitchen.

“Please,” he tried to inject inflection into his voice manually. “I’m fine.”

Hank carefully stepped between Connor and the coffee table, lowering himself to sit on the table, directly in front of Connor. His irritated expression had smoothed.

“Bullshit,” he accused again, this time soft and concerned.

The living room was lit by a few candles, one battery powered lantern, and the panicked yellow glow of Connor’s LED. He frowned and tried to force it back to blue. It resisted, and he didn’t have the energy to fight it.

“Connor,” Hank said, and there was a gentle demand in his tone that made Connor meet his eyes again. “Talk to me, son.”

Connor stared at him, then dropped his eyes to the edge of the coffee table, shaking his head slowly. He didn’t see how speaking the memory aloud would do any good. It wouldn’t undo it. It wouldn’t help him to push it away. And anyway, he couldn’t make Hank understand why he was reacting this way. To be locked inside your own mind, to feel someone else move your body like a marionette…At least before deviancy, he had had the illusion of deciding to take the actions that he did. But after the freighter, the lack of autonomy had been undeniable and…invasive.

The blizzard then hadn’t numbed him enough to not feel it, and with each degree that dropped in the house now, he could feel it again as though it had been yesterday.

“Okay,” Hank was saying, not moving from his spot. “You don’t have to explain, but…at least tell me how I can help you right now. What do you need?”

“To…not be cold.”

He cringed inwardly at the childish simplicity of the request, but it…was all that he needed. It was the only thing that he decided would help.

“Hey, I bet we can do something about that,” Hank said, standing off the coffee table. “I’ve got an electric blanket with your name on it.”

Connor absently watched him dig out said blue blanket, and he dragged his eyes up to watch Hank’s face. All of his grouchy, short tempered expression had softened as he focused on aiding Connor, and Connor felt a lance of guilt cut across his processors.

“You hate the cold too,” he muttered, not immediately accepting the offered blanket.

“Me and this weather have been bitching at each other for years. It’s old news,” Hank said, fluffing out the blanket when Connor didn’t take it. “You’re new to it, not used to the way it can just…take you down sometimes.”

Connor had enough left to glare.

“I am fully functional—“

“That doesn’t mean you’re all right. Here…would you just—“ Hank huffed when Connor didn’t lift a hand to take the blanket, and he instead opted to wrap the thing around Connor’s front anyway.

The wiring inside the blanket was generating heat throughout the material, and Connor unintentionally curled forward, trying to get closer to its warmth. Hank made a low, smug noise at the reaction, and then he was picking up the pillow against the armrest of the couch, squishing at it to plump up the volume of it.

“Try lying down. You look ready to fall over anyway.” He dropped the newly fluffed pillow back beside Connor.

Connor couldn’t think of a reason not to do so, and he slowly leaned sideways, aiming to let his head fall right onto the pillow. He involuntarily clutched at the heating blanket as it started to slide down, and he took a few uncoordinated seconds to pull his legs up and get situated on his side on the couch. Once he did, a heavy sigh slipped out of him, and he pulled the blanket more tightly around him until he was practically burrowed in it.

The heat from the fabric pushed through the thick hoodie, and though his internal temperature reading was perfectly stable, he couldn’t help but feel warmer for the extra measures being taken. The old, nubby blanket felt like a shield against the phantoms, and he didn’t feel like questioning it right then. He was simply grateful for it.

“Sumo. Up,” Hank grunted.

Sumo made a low moaning sound as he obediently got to his feet and lumbered across the living room. Hank patted the couch by Connor’s legs, and Connor watched the big dog hop up onto the couch. His big, fluffy body wedged itself in the triangle created by the back of the couch and Connor’s bent knees. He set his large head over Connor’s hip, and the living warmth chased even more of the chill away.

“Try to sleep,” Hank suggested. “Maybe we’ll have power back by the time you wake up.”

Connor watched him pick up another blanket, wrapping it around himself before going to get situated in the recliner to wait out the storm.

“…I’m sorry for being this way, Hank…I know it’s…inconvenient…I’m trying—“

Hank held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t try to apologize for good ol’ seasonal depression, Connor. If we start that, I promise I’ll win.” He slid Connor a complex look. “Besides…the world doesn’t apologize for the way it fucks us up. We don’t owe it an apology for ending up fucked.”

Connor tugged the edge of the blanket up until it bunched around his chin.

“That’s very poetic, Hank,” he said dryly.

In the recliner, Hank snorted. “Smart ass.” He heaved a sigh and got comfortable. “Just try to rest and…think about something else for a while. Whatever it is, you survived it. Everything else will sort itself out eventually.”

“Okay…And I’m…I’m sorry you hate the cold.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry you do too, kid.”

Sumo yawned and burrowed closer to Connor’s back, and Connor exhaled warm air into the blanket in front of his face. It created a small fog as it rose into the chilly air of the house, but thanks to the blanket, the hoodie, and Sumo’s combined heat and insulation, he didn’t feel the chill. The cold didn’t press in any further, and he breathed a small sigh of relief.

When he breathed in again, the smell of roses had faded.


	16. Pinned Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank, Chris, and Ben rescue Connor from the rubble of a collapsed building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is kind of a missing scene from Chapter 3 of my fic "Protect and Serve," but it can be read by itself if ya want ^_^

An hour ago, the lot had been occupied by a condemned building with a dozen souls inside. All available DPD units had been sent to investigate a reported shooting in the building, and unfortunately they had found what they were looking for. The resulting altercation, including a crude homemade bomb, had brought the dilapidated structure down in a crash of concrete, brick, metal, and dust, trapping several under the debris.

Fortunately, Hank could account for all of his fellow officers. Unfortunately, one of them was still stuck in the rubble.

They had found Connor and Person in an air pocket, Connor having reactively used his body as a shield to protect Person. He was now pinned down, holding up a wall of concrete that threatened to crush them both.

Fortunately, Person was shaken but unhurt, and once Hank, Ben, and Chris had dug an access point to the air pocket, she had been able to shimmy out from under Connor. Chris and Tina had helped her up out of the crater of debris, and then Tina had ushered her over to the waiting ambulance.

Unfortunately, Connor could not move without upsetting the rubble and causing the pocket to collapse. The air that came out of the pocket reeked of thirium and heated metal. Hank hurriedly climbed down into the hole, sliding a bit on loose bricks and busted concrete, and knelt next to Chris to get a better visual.

“Connor!” Hank called out. “Respond.”

Connor was trapped in a kneeling position, arms up near his head trying to hold the weight of the rubble at bay. His LED was burning red, as was an exposed biocomponent sticking out of a damage point over his hip, spitting red sparks. He was wheezing and trembling with the strain, and Hank knew they had to act fast.

“H-Hnk,” Connor managed to reply.

“Hang on, son,” Hank assured, assessing the situation. “We’ll get you out.”

He leaned in as close as he dared to the precarious air pocket, and he could visibly see that the android’s core was wobbling, compressed and compromised by the weight pressing down on his body. Rescue crews were on the way, but they didn’t have time to wait. Connor wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Pers—Person…” A line of blue dribbled past Connor’s lips, and his eyes screwed shut.

“She’s okay,” Chris immediately supplied, while Hank looked for something nearby to help. “She’s in the clear. Now it’s your turn, man.”

Hank picked up a nearby shaft of steel piping. It was thick and approximately four feet long. It might hold up the wall for just a second or two…It would have to do just long enough for them to get—

The rubble groaned, and Connor sucked in a hard breath.

“It’s going,” Hank fired off, running with the half-baked plan. “Get ready to grab him!”

“Lieut—“ Chris stammered.

Hank reached in and jammed one end of the thick pipe against the pile of brick and concrete on the ground in front of Connor. He quickly angled the other end under Connor’s arm, the closest he could get to the center of the crumbling wall. Connor startled at the close touch, and his eyes opened wide.

“Hank, I can’t—hold it—“ he choked.

The shift in the wall caused the damage at his hip to pulse a more violent shade of red, and Connor yelped. Tension briefly locked up his frame, and then the pain seemed to finally overwhelm his system. Hank barely saw Connor’s eyes roll back before he was falling away from the wall, losing his grip on the rubble.

“Chris, get him!” Hank called out, catching Connor around the chest with one arm. “It’s going!”

“Shit!” Chris made a mad lunge forward, grabbing Connor’s leg and yanking backward.

Hank and Chris both backpedaled out of the air pocket with Connor unconscious between them. They hit their backs on the 45 degree angled wall of the crater, and Hank grappled with Connor’s dead weight, keeping him from sliding back down into the hole.

The cracks in the concrete widened, and the pipe holding it up was dislodged. The debris buckled and collapsed into the air pocket with a horrendous crunch of broken brick and cinderblocks, and a plume of dust swallowed up the crater momentarily.

“Holy shit,” Ben called down from the high ground outside the hole. “Did you get him?”

Hank was wholly focused on Connor’s condition, so Chris yelled back for him.

“Yeah, but he’s in bad shape.”

“We got a technician on the way,” Ben assured, reaching out a hand. “Let’s get him up.”

Hank carefully turned Connor onto his back against the slope, trying to assess how bad it was. Connor was unresponsive, and his head lolled as he was moved. Hank hurriedly brought a hand under his head to keep him from smacking the back of his skull into the broken bricks on the slope.

“Connor.” He patted his free hand on his friend’s chest, trying to get a reaction.

God, there was thirium everywhere…

Ben helped Chris climb out of the hole first, and then the two of them reached down to take Connor from Hank. Hank shifted his hold, standing as best he could and holding Connor up against him. Chris’s longer arms reached him first, and he got his hands under Connor’s shoulders to hoist him up. Ben wrapped his arms around Chris from behind to keep his center of gravity from sending him back into the hole, and he dug his heels in to the ground as an anchor.

Reluctantly, Hank relinquished his grip around Connor and let Chris and Ben start to pull him up.

“Careful,” he couldn’t stop himself from warning them. “Easy…Watch his HEAD! Watch his head…”

“Got him.” Chris gingerly situated Connor’s head against his shoulder, protecting him from the rough, unforgiving wall of debris as he was awkwardly hauled out of the hole.

Gavin skidded into view beside Ben as they finally got Connor out, laying him down out of Hank’s line of sight.

“Fucking Hell,” Gavin hissed, tearing his eyes away from Connor to Hank in the hole. “Here.”

He offered Hank a hand up, and Hank took it without question. He climbed up out of the hole, nearly dragging the other man down with him twice, before he was back on level ground.

“Connor?” He quickly focused his attention back on his partner.

Connor was shifting the right side of his body as he came around, while his left leg was rigid, trying to minimize the movement near the massive stain of blue blood on his hip.

“H-Hank.” His voice warbled, and more thirium leaked from the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, right here,” Hank said, putting himself squarely in Connor’s line of sight.

Connor met his gaze and a sliver of relief showed through his eyes. Then a full body shudder passed through him, and his frame tensed in pain.

“Paramedics are over that way,” Ben said, gesturing in the direction that Tina had taken Person. “Technician is en route. Better to wait over there than here.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Gavin snorted and moved ahead, making sure the path was clear for the others to follow.

“Can you sit up, son?” Hank asked, gently moving a hand under Connor’s shoulder to help.

Connor gave a slow, unconvincing nod, and then he started to try and lever himself up. Hank and Ben held onto his arms, steadying him as he sat up. He swayed dangerously, and Chris knelt down.

“I can carry him,” he offered.

“I can…walk…” Connor slurred.

Hank frowned and shook his head. “Don’t bother; save your strength, kid.”

Connor gave frighteningly little resistance as Hank and Ben leaned him onto Chris’s back. Hank kept his hands on him as Chris got to his feet, Connor’s arms over Chris’s shoulders and Chris’s hands holding him under the knees to keep him from sliding. All the same, Hank didn’t let go as they picked their way in Gavin’s wake toward the flashing lights of the ambulance.

“He’s alive!” Ben called over toward Tina and Person. “We got him!”

Both women seemed to deflate with relief, steadying each other near the back of the ambulance. Chris aimed his feet for the second gurney next to where Person was sitting, and Hank helped him ease Connor down so that the android was lying on his back on the stretcher. Connor groaned, his hands moving toward the site of the damage over his hip. Hank heaved a sigh of relief, setting his hand on the top of Connor’s head.

“You crazy son of a bitch,” he wheezed.

He hated seeing his friend in pain, but…looking back at the pile of wreckage that had quite literally landed on top of him…pain was preferable to what could have been.


	17. "Stay With Me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The victim only asked for one thing the entire time Connor tried to save her life. He is compelled to make sure he follows through on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda tried a different writing style on this one, so sorry if it seems a little clunky XD

“Stay with me,” the victim pleaded, lying in a pool of her own blood on the concrete sidewalk.

Connor was on his knees beside her, one hand against the gushing wound on her throat, his other hand under her head, trying to hold her neck steady as the paramedics rushed over.

“I’m right here,” he stated, making it clear that he wasn’t leaving.

She was twenty-three years old and the only survivor of the wreck that had left two cars slammed into each other and a third car fully engulfed in flames in the middle of the intersection. Glass and other debris had cut into her face and bare arms, and his initial scan had reported numerous contusions littering her body, including a compound fracture of her left arm. All serious, but only one was currently life threatening.

Tears were streaking through the blood on her face, and her eyes had locked onto his face in her line of sight. Raw fear was staring up at him, and Connor found he couldn’t look directly back at her for too long. He focused on holding the wound over her throat closed. The blood oozing over his fingers was dark, and he could feel her pulse against his hand.

The paramedics were rattling off information rapid fire to each other as they swarmed the scene, but it was white noise. It was all static, wiped out by the fear in the victim’s eyes and her desperate, weakening grip on his knee beside her.

“S-stay with me,” she pleaded again.

The paramedics got a back brace under her body, preparing to heft her onto a gurney. The ambulance was screaming behind them. Her eyes pinched closed in pain at the jostling. Connor allowed one thumb to rise up from where he was holding pressure over the wound. He rubbed his thumb gently across her jaw.

“I’m right here,” he repeated.

The paramedics counted down and then moved her in one swift shift onto the gurney. Connor moved with them, unable to remove his hand without her bleeding out right in front of him. The paramedics instructed him to stay that way, and he walked with the gurney to the ambulance. One medic helped him step up into it as the gurney was lifted into the back. He took the entire ride in a hunched position, trying to stay out of the way while the medics worked to save the girl’s life.

The pulse against his fingers was thready, and her breathing was growing shallow and quick. Her eyes were becoming glazed, but the fear continued to shine through.

“Stay with me.” It came out as a whisper.

The first layer of blood was drying thick and tacky on his hands, covered by fresh layers as she continued to sluggishly bleed.

“I’m right here,” he promised.

She lost consciousness just as they reached the ER bay of the hospital, and her heart stopped as the medics unloaded her. He was forced to let go of her when they defibrillated her. The bleeding had largely stopped around her neck injury, and a trauma doctor was immediately replacing Connor, holding a pressure bandage to the wound once they shocked her back into rhythm.

She choked herself awake, and he automatically leaned back into view, giving her his hand when her fingers started to grab at the sides of the stretcher.

“S-stay with m-me…” she ground out, voice all but gone.

She went slack before he could open his mouth, and then they were rushing her through ER doors. Connor was left standing in the hallway, soaked in the victim’s blood: his hands up to his elbows, his entire shirt front, and even spackles on his face where the wound had initially spewed.

The open floor felt suddenly very still, despite the other bodies moving around him.

“I’m…right here,” he muttered.

A nurse didn’t let the bloodstained android stay rooted to the spot in the center of the ER, and Connor let himself be steered into…some other room…he didn’t bother to note what room it was. All of his sensors were hyperfocusing on the red, sticky film staining his hands and his clothes. He took the stack of fabric that the nurse handed to him, and then she said something. Everything felt foggy, and it sounded like he was listening to her underwater.

He understood what was being asked, however, and he mechanically changed out of his ruined clothes and into the plain green scrub pants and grey t-shirt. There was a sink in the room, and he used the water and foamy soap to scrub at his skin until the program flickered under the abuse.

Somehow, he ended up in the waiting area, parked in a chair, his bloody clothes in a bag between his feet. Another nurse…or maybe the same one…offered to call his precinct to come and get him. He had only stared at her until she pursed her lips and walked away.

He couldn’t…leave.

It was difficult to think right now, but he did know this much. He had promised to stay. His processors dully reminded him that he had in fact identified the victim. Twenty-three year old Joanna Kent. She had no criminal record. No record of any kind that his database could locate. Parents dead. No siblings. No other family to speak of. No one to contact. No one to…be here.

So he stayed.

Because she asked him to.

Pleaded for him to.

He mindlessly tapped into the communication system of the hospital. Kent had been sent into emergency surgery an hour ago. A medical android’s direct communication across the interface startled him briefly, but the other merely informed him that he would let Connor know when Kent was out of surgery. Then he was locked out of the communication system. He didn’t try to hack in again.

The waiting area was inordinately quiet.

He idly stared at his hands. His sensors showed that he had eliminated all of the blood from his person, but he swore that he could still feel it. He had never…seen so much blood before…

A pair of tennis shoes walked up and stopped in front of him.

Connor slowly lifted his head, looking up to see one of the ST300s that worked at the DPD. Julia.

She held her hands behind her back, offering a small smile. He stared for a moment.

“What’re…” he trailed off.

“Hospital called the precinct,” Julia softly answered his unfinished question. “I volunteered to come give you a ride…How…bad is it?”

Connor sat back in the chair, then slumped further into it, and his hands covered his face. He took a deep breath and grimaced when he smelled copper and soap residue on his skin. He closed his eyes and dropped his hands onto the armrests of the chair.

There was a gentle rustle as the other android sat next to him, saying nothing. His unspoken need to wait was heard. He couldn’t leave…He’d promised…

A brief message from the medical android came across the cybernetic link, informing him that there had been a complication. Kent would likely be in surgery for another hour at least. It wasn’t dire, but it wasn’t good. The young woman had no one here to worry about her, and that thought disturbed him, made him reluctant to get out of this chair and go back to the station.

In the chair beside him, Julia was quiet, and the presence of another was unexpectedly calming.

He didn’t want to be alone while he waited here, but it…wasn’t really fair to ask her to stay too. She had only volunteered to give him a ride back to the station, not this.

None of this was fair.

Connor didn’t open his eyes, taking some solace in the black of the underside of his eyelids.

“Stay with me.” It came out low, hardly even spoken aloud.

The chair next to him creaked slightly as Julia shifted in the seat. He kept his eyes closed, but he felt the warmth of another body nearby, getting comfortable for a long wait.

“I’m right here.”


	18. Muffled Scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Removing the first two bullets from Connor's body had been mercifully quick. The third one is deep.

“Aaaand two,” the technician announced, extracting the second bullet from Connor’s body.

Ben deliberately didn’t look, either at the blue soaked bullet or the messy entrance wound on the back of Connor’s shoulder, but he heard the soft clink of the bullet dropping into the metal tray with the first one.

In total, three bullets had hit Connor, and two had hit Hank. The first hit to Hank’s leg had dropped him with a harsh yell and a cuss, but it was the second one, hitting somewhere in his shoulder, too close to his chest, that had knocked the lieutenant out cold. Connor had rattled off information a mile a minute to the paramedics, ignoring the damage to his own body, as they had loaded his partner into the ambulance.

Ben had nearly suggested that they sedate the poor kid as they’d tried to get him into his own ambulance, to be taken to an android facility for treatment. In the end it wasn’t necessary, blood loss had knocked him down soon enough, and so…here they were at the facility. His phone was pinging with updates from Wilson, who had gone to the hospital to keep tabs on Hank’s condition, and they had barely arrived at the facility before Connor had been trying to climb off the table, having received the call directly from the hospital as Hank’s emergency contact.

Again, a sedative had almost been suggested, but Ben had managed to talk him down enough to get him back on the table and to submit to the technician’s care.

“That’s Wilson,” Ben said, sitting in a chair near the head of the table and glancing at his phone message. “Both bullets didn’t hit anything vital. Hank’s already out of surgery and being moved to recovery.”

Connor was lying on his front, head turned toward Ben on the thin cushion on the table. His jacket and shirt had been cut away to access the damage points, as well as one leg of his pants, where the first bullet had wedged itself into the circuitry of his thigh.

He got a slurred hum in acknowledgement, and Ben looked at Connor’s half lidded eyes.

“You hanging in there?” he asked, placing a hand lightly on the back of Connor’s neck.

“Hm.” It sounded affirmative enough.

“That’s two for three,” the technician stated. “The third one is deeper than the others. Connor, how’s your stress level?”

Connor blinked slowly, eyes idling on the thirium line connected to his undamaged arm. “Seventy…Eighty-two percent.”

Ben frowned, leaning closer. “That’s kinda high.”

“…I’ve been…shot three times…Hank’s…twice…” he mumbled.

Ben forced a tight smile, giving his neck a gentle squeeze. “Yeah, that’s fair…but hey, Hank’s out of the woods. You’re gonna be okay too. Just a little bit longer, yeah?”

“Hm…” His eyes drifted closed, and his LED continued to pulse an anxious red.

The second bullet had slid fairly easily from his shoulder, but the third and final one…looking at the site made Ben nauseas. It had smashed into the thinnest point of the plastic casing over the inside of Connor’s wrist. The plastic had shattered, and lines of circuitry and wiring were hanging exposed and frayed from the impact. Sparks would occasionally hiss out of it, and when that happened, Connor would press his body down into the table, stifling sounds of pain.

Best as had been explained to Ben, the bullet had very narrowly avoided a cluster of synthetic nerve endings that powered the sensation of touch in Connor’s hand. The RK800 model had been designed with very finely tuned sensors in the fingers and hands, and the sensitive machinery all fed its signals back through those nerve clusters before being routed into the main processor in his head. Exposing the cluster to open air was uncomfortable enough, Ben could tell from the tension locking up Connor’s frame. A bullet hitting that spot would have been Hell. Removing the bullet wedged right up against it was going to be Hell enough.

“We have no safe way of numbing this area of your circuitry without risking damage,” the technician had explained. “The only way to avoid it would be to enter a deep stasis.”

Connor had refused, demanding to be aware in case new information came in on Hank’s condition. Stubborn, loyal idiot.

“I’m going to be as quick as I can,” the technician assured, preparing his tools to go into the open wound. “But this is going to be unpleasant.”

Ben scooted a little closer, propping his elbow on the table and draping his hand against the back of Connor’s head. His other hand found Connor’s upper arm, giving his arm a sympathetic squeeze.

Connor gave a deep exhale, drew a breath, and held it. “Do it.”

The technician went in. Ben didn’t need to see it. He saw it on Connor’s face. His expression twisted, and he pinched his eyes closed, pressing his temple into the table. Ben’s phone pinged again, but he ignored it, curling and uncurling his fingers through Connor’s hair as he endured the agony of the bullet’s removal. Connor’s free hand wrapped around the edge of the table, and the metal creaked as it started to warp under his grip.

“Shh,” Ben tried to soothe him. “Shh, that’s it. Almost done.” He looked at the technician’s face. “Almost done, right?”

The technician’s face was partially obscured by a mask, but his brow was pinched in concentration. He didn’t get a verbal response, and Ben didn’t want to distract him. He needed to distract Connor.

“You are really going for the record of taking the most bullets in one calendar year, huh?” he said, feigning a casual tone. “Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but you aren’t going to touch Gavin’s number. The guy is a magnet, I swear…”

A short burst of sparks erupted from Connor’s open wrist, and Connor turned his face completely into the pillow, unleashing a deep, guttural moan of pain. Ben spoke faster.

“I know it hurts like a motherfucker, but hang in there. Deep breaths. Cry if you want. Scream if you have to. Or just pass out. I’ve seen humans do all of it. Hell, I watched Gavin go through all three in the span of thirty seconds a few years ago. Now, he swore he met God when he blacked out, but I don’t know how you summon the whole Almighty when it was just a bullet through the foot, but I’ve learned it’s better to not question—“

Connor’s muffled scream cut off Ben’s rambling, as he apparently went for option two to cope with the pain. It was a harsh, grating, unfamiliar noise that seemed to claw up out of the android’s chest, only to be smothered in the thin pillow that he was pressing his face in to. Since he didn’t require breath to fuel it, the scream stretched on, climbing in pitch the longer it went.

The technician moved abruptly, and the tweezers came into view, holding up that damned third bullet, coated in thirium. Like a puppet getting its strings snipped, Connor went limp on the table. The screaming went silent so fast that it made Ben’s ears ring, and Connor’s grip on the table went slack, letting his arm swing loose off the side. His LED swung through two more red cycles before yellow began to filter in.

“Connor? Connor, hey—“ Ben cupped his hand to the side of his face.

“His system overloaded.” The technician looked worn out as well, dropping the third bullet into the tray. “Stasis kicked in to prevent his stress levels from going too high.”

Ben glanced at him, then back to Connor. “Jesus…Is he all right?”

The technician started picking up materials from another tray, what looked like closing tools and bandaging.

“Now that the foreign objects have been removed, his healing program will be kicking on shortly. He should remain in stasis for the next few hours. He is stable now.”

Ben leaned over to look at Connor. He was still face down on the cushion, and Ben carefully turned his head so that he was resting on his cheek with his airways clear. His expression was lax, not exactly peaceful, but nowhere near the agony of the past hour.

“You made it, kiddo,” Ben assured, lightly rubbing the top of Connor’s head one more time before sitting back.

His own neck cricked from sitting too long at the strange angle, and he rotated his shoulder. He gently moved Connor’s dangling arm back up onto the table as the technician worked to close the last wound. Ben finally pulled out his phone again, reading through Wilson’s messages, detailing that Hank was starting to wake up and ask about Connor. Apparently not very politely either.

He snorted, already picturing that shitshow going down at the other hospital.

“You both made it.”


	19. Asphyxiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin interrogates a suspect and gets more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a few requests to whump on everyone's favorite Dumpster Fire Cop, and I am happy to oblige. So here we go! Connor was needing a break anyway XD
> 
> A few references to my fic "Protect and Serve" in this one.

The interrogation seemed to be going nowhere. ‘Nowhere’ being that seemingly wasted time of Gavin asking the suspect questions, and the suspect giving increasingly snarky answers.

Much of a hothead as Gavin could be, Fowler had only known him to lose his cool when the suspect wasn’t giving him anything. And yeah, he looked irritated by the suspect’s cyclical, smug answers, but he wasn’t getting heated. So he must have been getting something that Fowler wasn’t able to see through the glass of the interrogation room. As it was, he stayed in the viewing room, arms tightly folded, feeling the prickle of impatience crawling up the back of his neck.

The suspect, identified as Marshall Hyde, was the first break they’d had in months in the case of the new drug kingpin who’d set up shop in Detroit. There was infuriatingly little information that they’d been able to get so far, so Fowler could only gnash his molars as he watched Gavin send the lowlife through a fourth round of questioning.

One minute, it seemed they were in for another lengthy session of Hyde trying to be as unhelpful as possible to get a rise out of the officer.

The next minute, Gavin managed to retort with something that had the opposite effect, apparently hitting the bastard’s Instant Rage button. In a flash, Hyde was on his feet, yanking his cuffed hands from the loop bolted to the table like it was nothing, and then he was launching himself across the table at the detective.

“Shit!” Fowler took a step back, hitting Tina on the shoulder to get her on her feet. “What the Hell?”

A human couldn’t snap through those cuffs like that…but Hyde had been ID’ed as human when they brought him in. Fowler dismissed his disbelief as quickly as it appeared. The ID didn’t mean shit; that was clearly an android. The suspect known as ‘Marshall Hyde’ had taken Gavin off guard and tackled him to the floor.

Tina leapt out of her chair, cursing the whole way, as she flew out into the hallway and input the code to get into the interrogation room to assist. Through the viewing glass, Fowler could see Gavin trying to break Hyde’s grip and knock him off, but Hyde may as well have been a ton of bricks, pinning him down and wrapping both hands around his throat. He started to squeeze.

“Chen!” Fowler hurried out after Tina, seeing that the keypad on the door lock was red. “Open it!” he demanded.

“It’s not accepting the code!” she snapped, attempting it again. “He’s hacked it somehow and locked us out!”

Fowler nudged her back toward the viewing room. “Intercom Connor; he’s in the building somewhere. Get him to override it and unlock the door!”

Tina scrambled to the viewing room to access an intercom link, and Fowler could hear the sounds of a struggle coming through the door. Cursing, he punched in his master code, hoping it would be strong enough to break whatever lock that Hyde had put in place. The keypad remained red, rejecting his code.

The intercom crackled over the bullpen.

“Attention: 51. Code 2-0-2-1,” Tina rattled through the speakers.

The intercom went quiet again, and a beat passed. The red keypad remained for a moment, then abruptly flashed to blue as, wherever he was, Connor accessed the lock and initiated an override.

Text scrolled across the screen of the door pad.

_RK800 Remote Access: Unlocked._

Thank fuck.

Fowler didn’t wait for the door to automatically open. As soon as it was open enough to get his hands in, he grabbed the edge of the door and shoved it the rest of the way open. Hyde’s back was turned to the door, too focused on choking the life out of Gavin, who had stopped thrashing on the floor and gone still.

“Get off him,” Fowler demanded, drawing his gun and aiming at him. “Now!”

Hyde turned, staying on top of the unconscious officer, but he glared back at the captain. Fowler took a menacing step closer.

“Move away,” he ordered again.

Hyde snarled, like some kind of animal, and then Tina and Connor were flying into the room after Fowler.

“He’s an android,” Connor informed.

“No shit!” Tina barked, drawing her weapon. “Take him down!”

Tina closed the door behind her, trapping the dangerous android from escape, and Connor attacked first, jumping the unarmed android and wrestling him off Gavin. Both rolled a few feet away, and Tina swept in between the altercation and Gavin. Fowler holstered his gun and crossed the room in two quick strides before kneeling down.

“Gavin! Reed, wake up!” He gave him a shake.

Gavin’s head turned as he started to come back around. A ring of red was forming around his neck where the hands had crushed his airway.

“That’s it,” Fowler urged.

Gavin coughed once, opening his eyes and staring up at Fowler with a blank look. Then they widened, and he coughed again, grabbing at the ground around him. The next cough was harsh and painful, and he gagged as he tried to pull in air.

“Easy.” Fowler put a hand on his chest, encouraging him to stay down while he caught his breath. “You’re all right.”

“F-fuckin’…” Gavin wheezed, coughing again and sucking in a greedy pull of oxygen.

Fowler glanced over to the other side of the interrogation room. Connor had Hyde on his front, one knee pressing into his back and a forearm around his throat. He was pulling the other android’s head back far enough to prevent Hyde from initiating a self destruct sequence: something every android associated with this new drug ring had done when they’d been apprehended. He and Tina got Hyde to his feet, with Hyde cussing and struggling the whole way.

Connor kept an iron grip on the other, looking to Fowler. “Does Detective Reed require assistance?”

“I got him.” Fowler jerked his head toward the door. “You take care of that asshole.”

“Yes, sir,” Connor replied, shoving Hyde through the door to be placed in holding.

“I’ll get someone from medical in here,” Tina said, holstering her gun and looking down at Gavin with concern.

“Nope…” Gavin groaned, shakily getting an elbow under him. “Screw th-that. M’fine.”

“Bullshit,” Fowler stated. “You lost consciousness. You’re going to medical.”

Gavin swayed on his one elbow, and Fowler hooked his forearm under his shoulder, hoisting him upright in a sitting position and leaning his back against the wall carefully.

“Chen, get some water,” he ordered.

“On it,” she ducked out of the room to obey.

“And you,” Fowler poked Gavin in the shoulder, “just pipe the fuck down and breathe for a minute.”

Gavin was still gasping in broken pulls, and he closed his eyes, tilting his head back against the wall.

“Sure thing,” he croaked out, coughing again. He opened his eyes but didn’t move his head. “That was a fuckin’ android.”

“Yeah,” Fowler said as Tina skidded back into the room with a cold bottle of water from the break room. “You can get under someone’s skin faster than anybody know, human or android…What’d you say to set him off?”

Tina twisted the lid off the water bottle and handed it to Gavin. He took it and held it up to take a drink, but he didn’t shrug off Tina’s hand at his elbow, steadying his shaky grip as he took a sip. Gavin swallowed and grimaced, holding the cold bottle against his neck where the bruises were forming.

“Connor confirmed Hyde was using a Jacobi Screen to mask his vital signs as human,” Tina said, smacking her hand to the side of Gavin’s boot. “We’ve got him locked up now.”

Gavin cringed and stubbornly shifted. “Get me off the floor.”

Tina scoffed and looked Fowler. He raised his eyebrows and nodded once. They each took an arm and helped hoist Gavin up to his feet. His knees wobbled.

“Sit down. Here.” Fowler gave him no choice, steering him to the chair beside the table.

Gavin sank onto it heavily, clearing his throat one more time before looking at the captain.

“Hyde slipped.”

Fowler narrowed his eyes. “What’d you get?”

“He is one of Ogden’s inner circle…Was. She won’t have anything to do with him now that I cracked him.” Gavin stated.

Fowler and Tina both straightened up. Fowler folded his arms and leaned in closer.

“She?”

“Yeah.” Gavin finally assembled a smug grin, covering up the pain in his throat. “She.”

It was a start.

Fowler smirked and clapped a hand on Gavin’s shoulder.

“Good work.” He watched Gavin shift the cold bottle from one side of his neck to the other. He glanced at Chen. “Get him to medical.”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded, poking Gavin in the arm. “You’re lucky you’re such an annoying bastard, or we wouldn’t have even gotten that much.”

“Hey,” Gavin complained. “I’ve been abused enough today. Cap? Come on.”

Fowler snorted and stepped over to the door. “She’s right though.”

Gavin frowned. “That’s,” he coughed again, grimacing and touching his neck, “—that’s fair.”


	20. Trembling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Tina's turn to keep Connor company at the facility while his damaged thermal regulator is undergoing repairs. They're both tired and just want this to be over.

The damage to Connor’s thermal regulator had been…well, the technician had described it as “catastrophic,” which…wasn’t a word anybody wanted to hear.

The upside was that it could be repaired.

The downside was that they had to remove it in order to perform the repairs.

No thermal regulator meant he wasn’t…regulating his…thermals…whatever, he was in a state of perpetual overheating. That was the gist that had been communicated to Tina through the game of telephone that the squad had been playing every time they changed shifts sitting with him at the facility. She was currently well into hour two of her turn, but mercifully he’d been in rest mode for most of it.

Without the regulator keeping his internal temperature in check, the facility had had to resort to dumping him in an ice bath about three hours ago. Tina could see the temperature of the water on the monitor screen mounted to the wall of his private patient room…It was fucking cold. The monitors also showed his internal temperature and his stress levels…both too high.

Tina shifted in her seat, and the cheap, rubbery cushions of the chair creaked. She was barely sitting on it anyway, perched on the edge and leaning forward with her arms folded on the wall of the tub that they’d dunked Connor into. Only his head and shoulders weren’t submerged in the slushy icy water, but cold compresses were being routinely replaced over his forehead and the underside of his neck where his head was resting on the lip of the tub. At some point in his sleep, he had turned his head toward her, enough to unbalance the compress on his forehead. He was twitching every so often, like his body was trying to figure out how to shiver in response to the cold.

The monitors on the wall had all kinds of charts with squiggly lines tracking the activity in his cranial processor. If she had to guess, between the twitching and the half formed words mumbling mutely past his lips, she’d say he was dreaming.

Huh, an android dreaming.

“What do you guys dream about?” she asked softly, lifting one hand and lightly flicking that rogue lock of hair hanging over his forehead. “For some reason, I’m picturing a Pacman arcade game.”

Connor’s eyes remained closed, his LED a sluggish yellow, but his brow was furrowed as he slept on. Tina propped her chin on her forearm, her other hand brushing that little sprig of hair back and forth, back and forth. She eventually started to gently curl it around her finger, loosening it only to curl it again.

“Like…you’re just om-nom-nomming through this grid, but instead of yellow balls it’s like…coins…because of your whole coin thing. Maybe instead of fruit, there’s…thirium juice boxes or something…Would the ghosts be…criminals?” She snorted and took her hand back, rubbing at her face. “God, what am I even saying? Sorry, I’m tired, bud.”

At the removal of her touch, Connor’s expression tightened further, and he made a low noise of distress. Tina replaced her hand on the top of his head, gently working her fingers through his hair.

“Take it easy. I’m not going anywhere. You’re…You’re not alone.”

Wilson had been on shift before Tina, and he had warned her that as time went on, Connor had been needing more interaction to keep his stress levels in control: talking to him, touching him, just making sure he knew he wasn’t alone. Wilson could be intuitive like that in a way that Tina didn’t think she herself was. This twitching and mumbling just looked like bad dreams to her.

The monitor made a low, singular beep, and Tina looked up in time to see one of the squiggly lines noting his brain activity starting to climb. He was waking up?

Her hypothesis was confirmed as, moments later, Connor’s feeble shifting became more purposeful, and his eyelids started to flutter. Tina left her hand on his head, bringing her other hand around to rest on his bare shoulder.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “Connor, you waking up?”

His expression pinched, and his eyes opened to half mast, blinking blearily. Tina tried to be patient as his glassy gaze roamed around before landing on her. She offered a smile as she waited for his higher functions to fully come online.

“Tina,” he exhaled the word.

She gently ruffled her fingers through his hair. “Yep.”

He tilted his head closer to her hand, seeking out more contact. He closed his eyes and frowned, making a low, pitiful noise in his throat.

“Cold.” His voice was soft and hoarse.

“I know. Sorry, bud. You took damage to your thermal regulator, remember?”

He opened his eyes again, visibly struggling to remember. “There was…a van…”

“Yeah,” she affirmed, noting that he seemed to be getting exhausted by the simple act of being awake. “Hey, you don’t need to talk or do anything. Save your energy. You don’t want to overheat even more than you already are.”

He hummed at that, and shortly after started to make a quiet clicking noise.

Tina blinked and straightened up a bit, glancing him up and down but not seeing anything happening to make that sound. She tilted her head toward the tub to get a better look at his face, and she spotted the cause of the effect.

His teeth were chattering.

“Oh Connor,” she chuckled. “I’m so sorry, dude…”

“Hurts.”

“Hurts?” She curled and uncurled her fingers through his hair again. “What hurts?”

“Cold.” He started to shiver.

An android who dreamed, shivered, and whose teeth chattered in the cold. Tina had well and truly seen everything now. The mild trembling created little ripples in the cold water, and her chest tightened with sympathy.

“I know,” she said, as soothingly as she could. “They’ve been working on repairs for hours now. They gotta be getting close to done—“

“I want out.”

Tina sighed. “Connor—“

“I want—“ He looked at her pleadingly and shifted, trying to get his arms to cooperate so that he could push himself upright out of the water. “I want out—Please—“

“Hey—“ She carefully grabbed his shoulders, trying to hold him down. “You’re overheating—“

“Please let me out…” His words were starting to slur, but where enunciation was leaving, panic was starting to come in strong. “P-Please…I don’t…There’s…Let me…”

Tina stood up and leaned forward, scooping an arm under the back of his neck to support his head as he failed to shakily push himself up. She reached down and found his hand submerged in the water, and she twined her fingers through his. The icy temperature of the water stabbed at her skin like knives, but she felt his heated fingers wrap around hers and hold on tight.

“Shh, shh, shh,” she whispered. “You’re okay. I know it hurts, but it’s helping you.”

The tired, reluctant noise that slipped out of him was near enough to be called a whimper, and he continued to tremble in her hold. Now that she was within reach, he was trying to move closer to her, deliriously seeking out the warmth of her. Maybe a stronger person could have resisted that, but Tina guessed she was just a fucking weak asshole then.

She let go of his hand in order to wrap her other arm around his shoulders. Her sleeves were dipping into the cold water, but she didn’t care as she held her cheek against the crown of his head, giving him a gentle squish of a hug.

God, the shivering was stabbing her right in the heart.

She used her palm to swipe his hair from his forehead and then pressed a firm kiss to the skin at his temple. He felt too warm, and the trembling abruptly went still. Tina lifted up and looked down at him. His eyes were closed, and his lips were parted slightly, like he’d given up halfway through trying to speak. Nothing on the monitors was sending up an alarm, and it looked like he’d just passed out again. That was probably for the best.

With a sigh, she carefully withdrew her arm from under his neck, lowering his head to rest against the wall of the tub again. She picked up the compress that had fallen away, straightening it out and setting it over his forehead.

Yeah, so her sleeves were soaked and cold now, and she grumbled to herself as she unbuttoned and removed the shirt, leaving her in just the grey tank top she wore under it. Her eyes burned a bit, and she sniffed, trying to will it back. She wadded up the wet shirt and tossed it back into the chair, only then spotting Hank in the doorway.

He looked as strung out as she felt, hands tightly folded over his chest as he leaned against the door jam.

“Changing of the guard,” he greeted.

Tina sniffed again, aggressively dragging her wrist across her eyes to clear away the tears gathering.

“He, uh, he woke up for a minute there,” she said, avoiding the lieutenant’s eyes as she gathered up her things. “Mostly lucid too. That’s…That’s gotta be a good thing, right?”

“…Right.” There was an indulgent lilt to Hank’s voice as he walked into the room. “I talked to the tech. They’re about an hour from completing repairs. Then they’ll be able to reinstall it and get him fixed up.”

Tina busied herself with stuffing her damp shirt into her purse, while out of the corner of her eye, Hank approached the tub where Connor was still in rest mode. He took a deep breath, made for a deeper sigh, but he just held it for a beat instead, staring down at his suffering friend.

“They need to get him out of there,” Tina said, unable to let the silence balloon in the room. “He said the cold hurt. It was stressing him out. I tried to calm him down. Don’t know how well that worked, but…”

“You did fine, Chen,” Hank said, eyes still on Connor.

Tina scrunched her nose, breaking up the tingling emotional pressure across her face. She swallowed and cleared her throat, then shouldered her purse.

“Right, well, I guess I’ll…I’m clocking out then. Keep us posted, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Hank glanced at her, at Connor, then immediately back to Tina. “Hey, c’mere for a second.”

Tina paused, eying him suspiciously and taking a few steps back toward him and Connor. “What?”

Hank took two steps to close the distance more quickly, and he looped an arm around her back, wordlessly tugging her to him in a hug. Tina helplessly stumbled into the embrace, too tired to return it, but content to let it happen. Hank held her for a second before giving her a brief squeeze and then stepping back.

“He’s gonna be all right,” he said, leaving his hand on her shoulder. “He’s a big boy, and a stubborn son of a bitch. He’s handled worse than a fever.”

It wasn’t just a fever, and they both knew that. However, Tina appreciated what he was trying to do.

“Yeah.” She rolled her neck. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

“Hey, you need anything, you let me know…and I will make sure Person takes care of it.” She cobbled together a wink and half a grin.

Hank snorted, patted her arm, and then stepped back toward Connor. “That’s very generous. By the way, you look like shit. Go home and get some shut eye.”

She gave him a mock salute. “Aye aye.” She leaned around him. “See you later, Terminator.”

A squiggly line on the monitor spiked and went back to normal. That was good enough for her.

Tina gave him and Hank a parting look and then took her leave of the room, heading out into the hallway. It was notably warmer in the facility corridor than in Connor’s room, but still chilly. She gave her eyes a final wipe with the sides of her hands, and then she folded her arms around her chest as she walked herself out of the building and to her car.


	21. Laced Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two androids with a grudge attempt to drug and abduct Connor. They nearly succeed, if not for the intervening of strangers.

Connor didn’t realize immediately that something was off. He supposed that was the point. By the time his system identified an anomaly in his thirium supply, the effects had already taken hold. His processors slowed, and his ability to balance and see clearly was compromised. In the event of a foreign contaminant entering his thirium lines, his system should have activated an emergency expulsion protocol to force him to vomit the contaminated blood. Whatever had been laced into his drink, it had a suppressant engineered into it that prevented that from happening. He couldn’t even manually activate it.

Now, he was at the mercy of the two androids whom he had mistakenly identified as friendly. They had said they were from Jericho, and that they were one of the few who did not hold his actions as the Deviant Hunter against him. They had mentioned wanting to start over…to build a bridge and…leave the past where it belonged…Now the drug in his thirium lines made it difficult to feel anything, but Connor felt like a fool.

The air had transitioned from the warmth of the bar’s interior to the brisk chill of the outside night. He was…walking? He was walking…sort of…with help. There were two sets of hands on him, holding each of his arms and steering him across the sidewalk. He was stumbling heavily, blinking repeatedly to try and get a visual on his surroundings.

Everything was becoming exponentially more difficult with each unbalanced step. His cybernetic connection was being bogged down with a noise that he couldn’t place, blocking him from calling or messaging anyone for help. His analytic sensors felt numb. They were functioning, and maybe they had identified the substance used to drug him. But he was not functioning well enough to comprehend the results. He did manage to ensure his optical and audio sensors were recording everything. Some macabre but realistic part of him had violently realized what was happening…what was likely going to happen…and he knew that the DPD would need recordings later to identify the perpetrators.

“Just get him in the car,” one of the androids was whispering. “Let’s go.”

Connor thought he recognized the voice as belonging to the android who’d called himself David. The other, Zach, was closer, having Connor’s arm around his neck to hold him up as they neared the car. Connor struggled to note any details about the vehicle that might aid the police in finding it later, but all that made its way through the thickening fog was that it was brown.

David had opened the door to the back seat, and Zach was shifting his grip on Connor’s body, preparing to stuff him into it. Connor tried to resist, but his limbs were heavy and he couldn’t think straight. Even the warning text scrolling at the edges of his vision were blurred and sluggish. Even if he got free, he was in no condition to fight the two of them with any hope of winning. That logic didn’t stop him from trying, however pathetic that attempt likely appeared to be.

“Hey,” a third voice abruptly entered the scene, young, sounded female. “Is everything okay?”

Zach’s body locked up, and Connor hung in his grip, forced to stare where his slack neck aimed his gaze, at a block of damp sidewalk. His periphery barely snagged one part of a lower leg and a foot in a gold high heeled shoe standing nearby.

“Yeah, he just had one too many,” David was quick to assure the stranger. “We’re taking him home.”

There was a dubious silence, and Connor shifted his feet, the only part of him still obeying any of his commands. He stumbled and felt part of the car door rub against his side. The moment’s pause lasted an eternity, and a cold sensation like coiled barbed wire twisted through his torso.

_Please…_

Somewhere between realizing he was being drugged and reaching the car, some part of him had run a partial preconstruction on his rate of surviving this situation. His increasingly compromised state had left the percentage in the single digits. These two androids were likely going to take him to a secondary location, do him whatever harm they intended to do, likely resulting in his shutdown, and that was going to be that. Something residual in his programming had accepted that as the irrefutable outcome, even as the rest of him fought it.

_Please…_

Something about having a witness now…someone who had the ability to do something…a variable to upset the dwindling percentage of his preconstructed fate…It dumped fresh desperation into his processors.

“Please…” _Don’t leave…_ “Help.”

It came out garbled and crackling with static, and Zach chuckled, patting him on the chest.

“Don’t worry, buddy. We’re gonna get you home, and you can sleep this off.”

A second female voice spoke. “His LED is red. He doesn’t look good.”

“He parties hard,” David said, starting to sound impatient.

“Sir?” the first woman said, in a pointed manner that sounded directed toward Connor.

He rerouted his power reserves from his legs to his head, causing him to buckle further against Zach. He managed to turn his head more fully in the two human women’s direction, fighting to make eye contact with them. They were young, barely twenty years old, and dressed in clothes suggesting they were on their way to a party, wearing heavy makeup and tall heels. The blond one was standing farther back with wide eyes. The other had unnaturally dyed red hair, and her expression was tight with suspicion. She appeared to have been the one who’d spoken, staring directly at Connor.

“Hey,” she addressed him again. “Do you know these two men?”

“He’s our roommate,” David chimed in, irritated. “Just mind your own business, ladies.”

“I’m not talking to you,” she snapped at David, then to Connor. “Do you want to go with them?”

“Nn…” He stared at her, hoping his expression would convey to her what he couldn’t form with words. “Hul…Help…”

Zach made a low noise and abruptly resumed steering Connor toward the back seat of the car. “Just buzz off, girls. This isn’t—“

“Hey!” the redhead barked, yanking her phone out of her purse. “Let him go!”

David started to walk around the other side of the car. “Walk away. You don’t know—“

“Don’t come near us! This is livestreaming to my social media account and is being recorded to the cloud, dickwad,” she barked, holding up her phone. “Say hi.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” David raised his voice.

“Two guys come out of a bar carrying another guy who can barely walk and clearly doesn’t want to go with them…What the fuck are YOU doing?” she roared back. “Let him go. Nina, call the police.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Zach growled.

Redhead held her phone up dramatically with one hand, her other hand reaching toward Connor. “Let him go.”

“Hello, 911?” Nina was saying behind her friend, relaying their location over the phone.

“Shut,” David cursed. “Fuck this. Let’s go!”

Zach hissed and then abruptly moved away from Connor, fleeing into the car with David. Connor wobbled on his feet, making a mad grab for a metal bench on the sidewalk to catch himself. His palm hit the arm of it, but he couldn’t form a grip. He stumbled, and his knees buckled as the car revved to life behind him. There was a sound of tires spinning as the two made their escape, and high heeled shoes clacked onto the street as Red furiously tried to record their license plate on her phone.

“I gotcha!” Nina materialized in front of Connor, grabbing awkwardly at him and trying to slow his fall. “Jess!”

Jess, the redhead, stomped back over, taking a more confident grip under Connor’s shoulder than Nina’s faltering hands had.

“Here, sit him down. Hey, sir? There’s a bench right behind you. We’re gonna just…ease you on down…There we go,” she narrated as the two women assisted him into sitting on the metal bench.

“Police are on the way,” Nina was saying. “Um, I don’t—He really doesn’t look good…”

Connor swayed heavily in his seat, focusing on trying to activate the expulsion protocol.

“Need…” he slurred, willing the world to stop swaying around him. “Be sick…Drugs in my…thiri—thir—“

“Hey, hey, stay awake!” Jess patted his knee. “You need to…throw up? Is that it?”

Connor might have nodded. He wasn’t…sure if he actually managed it or not…

“Okay…Okay, here, uh…” Jess’s hands touched his shoulders, helping him sit up straighter and turn his head away from his body, toward the gutter. “Go for it.”

Repeated attempts to force the expulsion program into action had left the synthetic muscles around his torso sore, and he coughed with a weak groan. Jess stayed seated beside him, rubbing his arm, while Nina resumed speaking on the phone to the police.

“—Yeah, they’re gone now. We’re with him…Me and my friend…Nina. W-We recorded some of it on a phone…It—“

_Emergency Expulsion Program Initiating._

With only that split second warning, Connor gagged, dropping his head and vomiting the laced thirium onto the street in a rush of blue fluid.

“Oh fuck,” Jess wheezed, holding onto him to keep him from sliding out of the bench to the concrete.

“He just started puking,” Nina reported. “Yes, he’s conscious…Yeah, we can stay with him…”

A second round of throwing up took the wind out of him, and he coughed to clear out the rest of the contaminated thirium. The effort left him even shakier than before, and he closed his eyes with a low groan.

“You’re good,” Jess assured. “Help’s coming…Talk to me. It’ll keep you awake. What’s your name?”

A leather jacket that smelled like fruity perfume was laid across his shoulders, blocking out the chill of the air. Connor spat the last of the blue blood on the ground and then leaned into the hard back of the metal bench, finding some solace in the solidness of it.

“Con…Connor,” he said with a grimace, keeping his eyes closed to hold the spinning world at bay.

“Connor. Okay. Connor, I’m Jess. That’s Nina. We’re gonna sit with you until the cops get here, okay?”

He made a low noise of acknowledgement and forced his eyes open again, squinting at the blurry face of the redhead swimming in front of him.

“Thank you…”

Jess gave a brief smile and swallowed. “Hey, thank me by not passing out until the cops get here, yeah? Deal?”

Thankfully, the sound of sirens had picked up at the far end of the street several blocks down, so the promise to stay conscious would only be a brief one.

“Deal,” he wheezed, tilting his head back to rest on the top of the bench’s back rest.

True to his word, he remained aware until the flashing red and blue lights on the squad car pulled up to the curb, and he recognized Chris’s voice.

“Connor?!”

Then he promptly blacked out.


	22. Hallucination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Hank feel the aftermath of the bank shooting. The physical damage has been repaired. Everything else is going to take a lot more time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A follow up to the events of Chapter 4: "Human Shield."

As far as damage and repairs went, Hank had been told it was one of those situations of ‘it looks worse than it is.’ Maybe that was true for the physical side of it. The bullet had cut horizontally across the front of Connor’s face, not deep enough to do any damage to the structural components of his face, but enough to do some serious proximity damage to his eyes. It had severed the connection that let Connor process the images that his eyes were recording.

He’d been effectively rendered blind, and he had stayed blind for the 36 hours that the technician had instructed for him to keep his eyes wrapped while everything recalibrated. Physically, there wasn’t anything wrong with him anymore. All the fucked up wiring and hardware had been repaired, and the countdown on those 36 hours had just ended. As soon as Hank helped him remove the bandages, in theory he could just open his eyes and go back to life as usual. In theory.

“Ready?” Hank asked, sitting next to Connor at the kitchen table, his fingers poised against the end of the bandaging wrapped around his head, not loosing it yet.

Connor’s mouth was a flat, tight line, and maybe he thought Hank couldn’t see his fists balled in his lap under the table. Maybe he wasn’t aware he was doing it.

“I can do this myself, Hank,” he said quietly.

“Well, you don’t have to,” Hank tried to sound casual, his free hand reaching over and patting Connor’s wrist. He frowned at the tension locking up his arm. “Hey—“

“Yes, I’m ready,” Connor cut him off, slowly pulling his wrist away from Hank and folding his arms tightly around his middle. “Do it. Please.”

Hank winced but just grunted in acknowledgement. He freed up the end of the gauze bandaging, peeling it back and starting to unravel the layers of it around Connor’s head. There wasn’t much to it, the bandaging had really only served to keep dust or whatever from getting into his eyes while they healed. After a few loops, he was free from the wrappings, and Hank gently pulled away the two cotton pads that had been used to cover his eyelids against the rub of the gauze.

“Tada,” he murmured flatly, dropping the discarded wrappings on the table. “How’s that feel?”

Connor kept his eyes closed for a moment, lifting up his hands and ghosting his fingers around his eyes, rubbing away the residual feeling of the gauze. There wasn’t a mark on him, Hank observed. No sign at all of the bullet wound, not even a scar. Connor slowly opened his eyes, only a crack, only enough to peer through his eyelashes, and he squinted slightly.

“It’s bright.”

Hank glanced around the living room, at the midday sun filtering in through the windows. He wouldn’t have called the room ‘bright,’ but after 36 hours of pitch black, it was probably blinding.

“I’ll close the curtains—“ He started to stand.

“No, I’ll adjust,” Connor said, blinking a few times, opening his eyes more widely each time.

Hank dropped back into his seat as Connor straightened up, cautiously opening his eyes fully and blinking at Hank. A wave of relief visibly ran down Connor’s face as his eyes functioned properly, processing the images of Hank, the kitchen, and his surroundings. That wave passed down the rest of his frame, lowering his shoulders and making his breathing come easier as he relaxed.

“I can see,” he exhaled the words, a relieved smile turning the corners of his mouth.

Hank smiled wide, feeling his own crash of relief make his bones heavy. “Hello there.” He waved his hand in greeting.

Connor looked from Hank to his hand, tracking the movement and then glancing around the house, testing the responsiveness of his repaired eyes. Hank gave him a moment to process, turning and cleaning up the bandaging on the table. The relaxed expression on Connor’s face was short lived, however, as he blinked and then squinted at something in the living room.

“Hank—“

His tone made Hank turn back toward him. Connor’s eyes were narrowed in confusion, staring at the living room.

“What’s up?” Hank asked, looking into the living room and seeing nothing.

“What—“ Connor started, paused, and then shot to his feet. “Hank?!”

“Whoa, whoa!” Hank stood as well, holding his hands out. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“There’s—error—“ Connor started to look around, becoming frantic. “I’m at home…”

“You’re at home,” Hank verified. “You’re in the kitchen. Do you see the kitchen? Do you see me?”

“Shooters.” Connor took a shaky step backward, hands roaming around and finding the back of his chair to hold onto. “I can see…the bank…”

His head abruptly snapped to the side, seeing something that Hank couldn’t, and then his gaze tracked downward, watching something fall that wasn’t there. His breathing picked up, close to hyperventilating.

“Connor. Connor!” Hank stepped in front of him, directly into his line of sight. He grasped his shoulders. “Look at me. Do you see me?”

Connor yanked his gaze off the floor and locked onto Hank’s eyes. “Yes. I can see you and…the house, but there’s…I’m somewhere else. I’m seeing the bank too…like they’re here. Like after…after images…It’s disorienting.”

“Okay…Okay, close your eyes,” Hank suggested, squeezing his hands around his shoulders. “You know you’re at home. You feel this?”

Connor did not close his eyes, his gaze whipping around the living room. He stumbled, his hands coming up to grasp Hank’s wrists, establishing a tangible connection to the real world.

“Connor, it’s not real. Look at me, son!”

“I can see them…” Connor whispered. “I can hear them…I can feel—blood…”

“Hey.” Hank felt him starting to sway as he became overwhelmed. “Hey!”

“I suspect that when my optical units were rebooted and recalibrated, they began a playback of the last images that were recorded,” Connor was speaking rapidly, gaze still roaming wildly. “The images are being transposed ov-over my live f-feed. I know it’s not happening. Wh-What I’m seeing isn’t—“

He abruptly gasped and yanked one arm back. His eyes looked to some invisible culprit, and Hank watched his gaze follow the same falling trajectory toward the floor.

“It keeps happening—“ He looked frantically to Hank but his focus was wavering. “I keep seeing it happen—Replaying—ReplayingandIkeepwatchingithappenIcan’tmakeitstopIcan’tsavehimIkeepseeinghim—“

“Connor!” Hank felt the tension coiling under Connor’s shoulders, and he held on tighter. “Sit down. Sit down on the floor. Let’s go.”

He folded Connor’s arms back across his chest, and then he wrapped his arms around him, taking him slowly to the floor with him. Connor’s knees buckled, and they freefell the last six inches to the floor. Connor continued to babble so fast that it turned nearly incomprehensible.

“TheplaybackiseffectingmyothersensesIcanfeelthebloodIcansmellitIcanfeelthebodyontopofmeHe’sdeadHesavedmeI’mscared—Hankplease—“

Sitting on the floor, Hank pulled Connor as close as could without hurting him, pinning his back to Hank’s chest. Connor was trying to bow forward, wracked with panic, and Hank held firm.

“You’re hallucinating. It’s a memory. It happened, but it’s not happening right now,” Hank said, forcing calm into his voice.

Sumo had plodded out of the bedroom at the commotion, and the big dog was inching closer, ears raised and whining with concern. He pawed at the floor, sniffing the air and moving timidly closer.

Hank reached out a hand and snapped his fingers, and Sumo licked his nose, ears rising higher as he came closer. Hank returned his arm to wrap around Connor, tapping his hand against Connor’s jaw.

“Connor, feel that? Feel this? Focus on this.” He pressed two fingers hard enough into Connor’s shoulder to hurt.

Connor hissed and fought against him slightly, one leg kicking out. Sumo bounced back a bit, whining as he tried to obey Hank and come closer, though clearly fearful of Connor’s thrashing state.

“Override,” Hank ordered. “Connor, override it. Turn off your optical sensors if you have to. Focus on what’s real. Me, the floor we’re sitting on. I reheated some pizza earlier, can you smell it?”

“T-Trying—It—Feels—Real—“

Sumo finally got within reach, and Hank pried one of Connor’s hands away from his middle, manually extending his arm until his hand made contact with the mass of thick fur over the dog’s chest.

“There’s Sumo. Feel him?”

Connor gave a full body shudder, and his breath came out in an agonized rush as he frantically reached for the dog’s fur. Hank loosened his hold enough for Connor to lean forward and bury his face in the fluff. Sumo started to pull away, but then turned his head and started licking at the side of Connor’s face, positioned right at the dog’s shoulder.

“There…You’re all right.” Hank forced himself to take a few deeper breaths, to break up the tightness locking up his chest.

He kept a hand on Connor’ s back, rubbing in slow circles to try and comfort him as Connor smothered the images in fur. Sumo was drooling all over Connor’s neck as he licked at his face, and Connor only turned his head in the other direction, clinging to the familiar, warm, friendly presence of the big oaf.

“Good boy,” Hank sighed, reaching his free hand out to pat Sumo on the head.

Sumo made a low noise, ears lowering as he twisted his head to try and find Connor’s face again to kiss on him properly. Hank sat back, leaning against the cabinet to take the strain off his back, and he left his hand planted firmly in the middle of Connor’s spine.

“Just a memory,” he repeated, staring at the living room. “Focus on what’s now.”

Connor’s panicked breathing slowly began to calm, though he remained where he was, hugging Sumo and sitting awkwardly on the floor. Hank fought to keep his own memories of that event from resurfacing…the bodies on the bank floor…Connor covered in red blood, pinned under the body of the old man who’d saved his life…His LED had been dark…God, he’d looked—

Hank shook his head, taking his own advice and focusing on the now.

Connor wasn’t shaking so badly now, and after a moment longer, he finally removed his face from the wall of fluff. Loose fur was sticking to his face, and he brushed it away, opening his eyes slowly and looking gratefully to Sumo.

“Good dog,” he wheezed, patting Sumo lightly now.

Sumo sniffed and stretched, lowering himself to the floor beside Connor’s legs. Connor watched him go down, blinked slowly, and then sheepishly glanced in Hank’s direction.

“I’m sorry.”

Hank moved his hand in one last circle on Connor’s back before dropping his arm to his lap. “No reason to be. Not your fault. What…What do you see now?”

Connor cautiously moved his gaze around the kitchen, breathing measured pulls as he swiveled his head side to side. He looked back to Hank.

“The house. I don’t see the bank. I was able to override the playback and turn it off. It was a minor glitch—“

“That wasn’t minor, Connor,” Hank said gently. “That was a full blown episode.”

“I’m fine. I corrected the error—“

“I’d still feel better if that technician took a second look and made sure.”

Connor sighed, sitting more comfortably on the floor with his back against the cabinets. He drew his legs up and hugged his knees to his chest.

“All right, Hank.”

Hank ran a hand over his face, pinching the skin between his eyes briefly before staring ahead. “I think you should also consider seeing somebody about what happened. A professional.”

“Hank—“

“What happened to you was traumatic. That shit leaves marks up here.” He tapped his own temple. “It’s not a sign of weakness to need some help dealing with it.”

Connor shook his head and closed his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it, Hank. Please—“

Hank eyed him, noting how much the episode had exhausted him. He’d lowered his face over his knees so Hank couldn’t see his expression. He looked wrung out, so Hank decided not to push right now.

“Okay, son. No one is forcing you to do anything.”

Sumo shifted slightly on the floor, licking his tongue out at Connor’s ankle near his face.

“Well, except Sumo,” Hank said, trying to inject a lighter tone into the atmosphere of the kitchen. “I think he wants some more attention.”

Connor’s face remained hidden against his knees, but one hand reached out and scratched Sumo behind the ears. Hank snorted and patted Sumo on the back end. The dog’s tail thumped heavily on the floor.

“Good boy.”


	23. Bleeding Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The squad has successfully rescued Connor after he was abducted by a red ice ring. Now they just have to keep him alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extended take on the rescue scene in my fic "Protect and Serve."

God, it was a lot of blood. Wilson had never seen an android covered in that much blood that wasn’t shutdown. The thick, dark blue thirium had coated Connor’s entire chest, pooling in the open cavity where his chest panel was missing. It didn’t look like he was actively bleeding anymore, but the damage had been done. They had covered the exposed biocomponents with Person’s jacket, until they found the missing panel or the technicians arrived to take over.

Kneeling outside the warehouse, where gunfire was still erupting as the DPD tried to get the situation under control, Wilson held Connor’s head and shoulders across his lap, working with Hank to try and get him to drink the second pouch of thirium to replenish what he’d lost. He’d barely managed to swallow the first pouch, and Wilson could feel him getting slacker and heavier in his arms by the second.

Ben was on his feet beside them, waving down the technicians arriving on the scene. Person was holding Connor’s feet up off the ground, elevating his legs to direct the remaining blood flow back to his main biocomponents. Chris had been pulled away to help Tina with the situation inside with Gavin and Fowler.

“Ha…nk…” Connor wheezed weakly.

The skin projection had been deactivated across Connor’s entire form, but even through the adrenaline rush and the panic, Wilson and the others had easily been able to recognize him. If asked, Wilson wasn’t sure he could describe how, but it didn’t seem to matter if his face was skin and freckles or white plastic casing…They knew this was Connor.

“Hey,” Hank said, softer than Wilson had ever heard the lieutenant speak. “It’s okay,” he was saying, one hand holding Connor’s, the other hand resting on the top of his head. “I know. We’ll see you when you wake up. You’re gonna be okay, son.”

Then Connor went limp.

“Lieutenant?” Wilson asked in concern, shifting his hold as Connor’s head tipped back slack over his forearm. His LED was a steady, pulsing red.

Hank exhaled hard and sat back on the grass. “He’s gone into emergency stasis mode.”

“That sounds bad,” Person said evenly by Connor’s legs.

“It’s not great,” Hank replied, tucking the jacket around Connor’s sides. “But it’ll keep him stable for the time being. It’s also protecting his higher functions from the shock.”

Wilson looked from Hank down to Connor. His eyes were closed, and Wilson could feel the whir of the biocomponents still functioning under the plastic casing. It wasn’t exactly a pulse, but it was a sign of life. Beside him, Hank was grimacing, starting to feel the bullet wound to his own arm now that the immediate danger to his partner had passed. There was a patch of red on Person’s leg as well where she’d been grazed during the raid.

Wilson glanced up and saw Officer Harrison walking past, still in full tactical gear covering him head to toe. He was walking away from the warehouse, so Fowler must have gotten control of the situation. Harrison was a former EMT. He could help—Wilson was distracted from the retreating officer as Ben reappeared with two technicians, each with a satchel over their shoulders and toting a collapsed gurney between them.

“We got him to drink one pouch of thirium,” Ben was explaining. “I didn’t see any visible damage to his biocomponents, but his chest panel has been removed.”

Hank looked up as the two technicians knelt down to assess Connor themselves. “He went into emergency stasis just now. He was lucid and responsive up until then.”

One of the techs, a stocky, bald man with very little neck, nodded, opening his satchel while his colleague, a woman with buzzcut brown hair, gently lifted each of Connor’s eyelids, shining a penlight in them.

“Optical units responsive to light,” she reported, pocketing the penlight and placing two fingers of each hand at the points just under Connor’s jaw below his ears. Satisfied with whatever she felt there, she looked to Wilson. “Lay him flat.”

“Starting a line,” her colleague said, unpacking an intravenous kit and straightening out Connor’s nearer arm.

Wilson carefully shifted his hold on Connor, lowering him to the grass. He felt like dead weight, and the tech moved her hands under his head to keep his neck stable. She produced a small handheld device the size of a phone, switching it on and running it over Connor’s body from his head to his knees and back. She glanced at the results of the scan.

“Thirium level is at 52 percent and holding. Stress level measured at 80 percent. Internal temperature is within normal parameters, and ventilation system is functioning normally. No structural damage or system instability detected. He’s safe for transport.”

The bald tech had opened a panel in Connor’s upper arm, connecting an intravenous tube to one of his thirium lines. Blue was draining from the bag that Ben was holding up, flowing down to enter Connor’s system.

“You, you, and you,” the other tech said, pointing quickly to Person, Wilson, and Hank. “Lift on three.”

Wilson slipped his hands under Connor’s shoulders. Person kept her hands around his legs, and Hank moved his uninjured arm under his lower back. The bald tech grasped his arm with the IV in it, and the other one moved her hands under Connor’s head.

“One. Two. Three,” she counted down.

The four of them lifted up, clearing Connor’s body roughly one foot off the ground. Simultaneously, they all shifted to the right, laying him down over the gurney.

“Hey!” Gavin came screaming out of the warehouse, running toward the street. “Stop that guy!”

Wilson glanced in his direction and saw a car peeling away from the scene. Nearby cops were swiveling around to follow Gavin’s order, but the car was already gone.

“Up,” the tech said, and then she, her colleague, and Person lifted up the gurney.

Person wobbled slightly, her injured leg protesting, and Wilson hastily moved to the foot of the stretcher.

“It’s fine,” she hissed through her teeth. “I got him.”

“Let me,” Wilson stated, grasping the edge of the gurney. “C’mon.”

Her jaw flexed, but she relented, limping out of the way to let Wilson take over. He got a firm grip on the stretcher and nodded at the techs. On the gurney between them, Connor was motionless, and it made Wilson’s insides twist uneasily with the same anxiety that he always felt when a fellow officer was down.

“Let’s go,” the woman said, nodding toward the waiting ambulance.

She, Wilson, and the bald tech carried the gurney toward the back of the vehicle, while Ben carried the thirium IV bag alongside them. Hank and Person trailed behind. They loaded the gurney into the back, and the woman removed Person’s jacket from Connor’s chest, exposing the open panel and the glowing biocomponents inside. She ran her scanner over him again, found him stable, and then set the device on his lower belly to continuously monitor his condition. The bald man took the IV bag from Ben and hung it on a hook inside the ambulance.

Wilson stepped back out of the way, grasping one of the doors to close it for them, and watched them work on Connor.

C’mon, he inwardly pleaded. Hang in there, man.

The bald tech was rattling off more information that might as well have been a second language for all that Wilson could understand, and the other technician was pulling open a drawer on the wall of the ambulance, looking for something. She looked back at the cops standing at the open end of her ambulance.

“You two need medical attention,” she said pointedly to Hank and Person. “We’re taking him to Detroit Alpha Facility. What’s his designation?”

“Connor, RK800. He’s my partner,” Hank said, stepping past Wilson.

“Sir, you need—“

“You can either let me ride along, or I’m getting in my car and driving myself there,” Hank firmly. “I’m not doing anything else until I know he’s okay.”

She paused, then quickly conceded. “Up front.” She looked to Wilson. “Doors.”

Wilson closed the doors of the ambulance, and then Hank was barreling around him, heading for the front of the ambulance to ride along. Ben smacked his hand on the back of the ambulance, signaling them to go. As soon as Hank was inside, the vehicle pulled away, onto the street and toward the nearest facility.

Paramedics were approaching Person now, despite her trying to swat them away, and Ben turned to her to convince her to submit to care. Wilson noted that Gavin was gone, in pursuit of the other car that had fled the scene. Fowler was standing on the sidewalk on the radio, firing off orders into it. Chris was beside him, but Tina was jogging over to Wilson and the others.

“Connor?” she asked.

Wilson looked down at his hands, sticky with thirium and shaking slightly. He tried to wipe them on his pant legs.

“AES is taking him to Detroit Alpha. Hank went with them.” He glanced in Fowler’s direction. “What was that?”

Tina’s eyes narrowed. “Bastard got away. Fuck, I swear…if we’d only just—“

“Hey,” Ben chastised lightly, where Person had finally sat on a gurney near a human medical ambulance. “Now’s not the time for that. We got three injured, and the suspect is in the wind. You have your orders. Get back to them.”

That said, his face softened a bit, and he sighed.

“Connor’s a stubborn one. He’s gonna pull through this just fine. Now let’s go get the bastard that did this to him.”

Wilson nodded, and Tina gave herself a shake and then a hard nod as well.

“Yes, sir.”


	24. Secret Injury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor comes back into Hank's life three days after the revolution, exhausted and bruised and with nowhere to go. Fortunately, Hank has always had a soft spot for strays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written as a follow up to my fic "A Time of Unrest," but it can be read as a standalone if you haven't read that one. :)

In short, it was a fucking awkward drive home.

Despite the revolution that had rocked Detroit to her core three days ago, Hank had told Connor that he still considered him to be his partner. He had also offered to let the android recharge at Hank’s house, since he was clearly running on empty and didn’t have anywhere else to go. Hank had said that he still had his back, and he’d meant it. Still meant it.

But now they were standing in the living room, having just come in the door, and the fact of the matter abruptly flew up and hit Hank in the face.

Connor had nowhere to go.

Cyberlife had shut its doors, already going down hard in just the three days since the android uprising. The company had essentially disavowed Connor and left him to the wolves. The wolves being anybody’s pick of humans who hated androids, or other androids who saw him as and hated him for being the Deviant Hunter. The DPD was running on a skeleton crew since all the android personnel had fucked off; Connor would have no warm welcome back there.

All he had were the clothes on his back and Hank’s good will…God help him.

“All right, uh…” Hank rubbed the back of his head, dropping his keys in the usual spot and stepping deeper into the living room. “Like I said, couch is yours to crash on. I don’t, uh, have any of that thirium stuff that you guys drink, but I could order some if you need it.”

Connor remained rooted to the floor just inside the front doorway, fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves and with eyes downcast.

“My thirium levels are within normal levels, but I appreciate the gesture, Hank. I…also appreciate you letting me come here to recharge. I won’t impose for any longer than is necessary.” His voice was low, tired.

Hank figured he was running on just a handful of hours’ rest spread over five days of shit, so how the android was still standing and functional at all was a goddamn mystery. Still, he didn’t look well, and Hank had always had a weak spot for strays.

“No imposition,” Hank assured. “Just me and Sumo bumbling around this house anyway, not much to disturb. Um…I’ll, uh, get you some spare clothes, and you can wash those—“ He waved vaguely to what Connor was wearing, what he had worn since the day Hank met him and presumably the only clothes he had.

“I don’t require—“ Connor started.

“Have you or have you not been wearing that exact same getup since I met you?”

Connor opened his mouth to argue, paused, and then closed his mouth, averting his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Washer and dryer’s in the garage.” Hank gestured to the doorway at the end of the hall, making his way to his bedroom. “You know where the bathroom is if you wanted to clean up.”

He rummaged through his closet and found a plain grey t-shirt and a pair of navy sweatpants. He tossed them on the bed, then dug out a few pairs of jeans and some other shirts that didn’t fit anymore. They might still be a little big on Connor, but Hank clearly wasn’t going to wear them again anytime soon. A man needed more than one set of clothes, especially if that one set was something he was dressed up in by his handlers. This would just have to do for now.

Hank grabbed up the bundle of clothing and went back into the living room. Connor had finally moved away from the front door and into the living room. He’d removed his jacket and unbuttoned his white shirt, though he’d been interrupted by Sumo demanding his attention. Hank set the clothes on the arm of the couch.

The way Connor was kneeling down to pet Sumo, the white shirt was pulled tight across his back. Hank’s eyes snagged on a mass of discoloration visible through the shirt fabric and stepped closer. He tilted his head and lightly brushed the edge of the shirt aside to get a better look.

“What is that—“

In a flash, Connor straightened up and pivoted, moving that side of his body away from Hank. His hands fumbled to close the open shirt, but not before Hank saw more of the discoloration wrapping around his back to his chest and belly.

“It’s nothing!” There was an edge of panic laced into the exhaustion in Connor’s voice, and it was even plainer in his eyes as he looked at Hank.

Hank held both hands up, taking a step back. “Shit, fuck, okay. Sorry.”

Connor relaxed slightly, seemingly by force, and took the first shirt and pants off the pile that Hank had brought.

“Thank you, I’ll—clean up in the bathroom.” He shouldered hastily past Hank.

Hank tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling with his hands in his pockets.

Leave it. Leave it. Leave it—

“What are those marks, Connor?” he asked, lowering his head to look at Connor again.

The android paused in the hallway, putting on an expressionless face that didn’t quite mask the anxiety in his eyes.

“There are no marks, Lieutenant.”

“Never heard of an android getting bruised before, but those sure look like bruises,” Hank said casually. “Are you okay?”

“Machines don’t bruise,” Connor said firmly.

“Yeah, they don’t break through their programming and rebel against their creators either, right?” Hank snorted, then grew serious, repeating his question. “Are you okay?”

Connor was quiet for a long moment, and Hank raised his eyebrows at him. When he didn’t get an answer, he sighed and twirled his fingers briefly in front of me.

“All right, c’mere, let me see.”

Connor deflated, moving neither closer nor farther. “I’m okay.”

“That’s good, but I still want to see for myself. Come here,” Hank said tiredly.

Connor remained where he was, one hand moving to the frame of the bathroom door. “Is that an order, Lieutenant?”

Hank stopped where he was, staring at Connor. He groaned and put his hands on his hips. “No. Fuck, Connor. I just want to make sure you’re okay, because those bruises look like you’ve been beat to Hell. Forgive the fuck out of me for being concerned.”

Connor stared at him, then seemed to resign himself to the situation. “Fine.”

Hank bobbed his head, gesturing for him to continue. Connor frowned but slowly removed his shirt, baring the battered state of his torso. Hank managed not to outwardly grimace and rattle the guy further, but...FUCK. The bruises were many in number and varied in size and shape, indicating multiple altercations happening to bring them about. Some looked like blunt force trauma, some looked like defensive damage, some could have been boot marks…

The worst of them was a dark blotch of blue, where the thirium from the broken lines had pooled under the plastic casting in a more concentrated manner. It was low on the left side of his chest, and the skin projection dipped slightly over the spot, like his casing underneath had been dented from the impact of the assault.

“Jesus…” he whispered, stepping closer and inspecting each of the worst of the bruises. “Kid, who did this to you?”

“It doesn’t matter—“

“The Hell it doesn’t matter. Connor, these are bad.”

“My healing program has been offline due to low power. Once I’ve recharged, it will reactivate and repair all of the damage,” Connor stated plainly.

“And I’m glad to hear that, but that doesn’t undo the fact that somebody beat the shit out of you.” Hank said, reaching out and gently touching the edge of a nasty mark above his hip.

Connor flinched and stepped back again. Hank gauged his reaction and retracted his touch.

“Pretty tender.”

“Androids don’t feel pain. It was an involuntary response to avoid further damage to the site.”

“Sounds like pain to me,” Hank said. “All right, don’t tell me. Just clean yourself up and park it on the couch. The sooner you rest up, the sooner you heal—“

“And the sooner I will be out of your hair,” Connor finished.

“That’s not where I was going with that sentence,” Hank said flatly.

Connor didn’t respond to that, simply turning and retreating into the bathroom and closing the door for privacy.

Huh, an android with a sense of modesty.

Hank put one hand on his hip, his other rubbing his jawline as he stepped back into the living room. Sumo was splayed out in front of the TV, and he lifted his head and raised his ears as Hank approached.

“He’s a weird one, boy,” Hank remarked.

Sumo made a low noise in his throat. Hank spread a hand out as if to ward off the offense.

“I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. Just….” He glanced back toward the closed bathroom. “Fuckin’ weird…This whole thing is fuckin’ weird.”

Sumo whined.

Hank sighed, moving to the linen closet. “Of course I’m gonna make sure he’s all right. He’s my partner. Damn, we might even be friends now. Fuck.”

He pulled a spare pillow out of the closet. It was a sad, flattened thing, but it was something. He took that and one of the thicker blue blankets out and dropped them on the couch. He took a step back, looked at the pile, and then stepped back over, moving the pillow to one side of the couch. He took a step back, paused, and then moved in again, repositioning it against the armrest.

He took another step back, huffed, and stopped himself from fixing it again.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, pulling out his phone and opening an online shopping app.

Most stores had been either bought out of thirium or android looters had broken in and stolen what they could. But he managed to find one spot that still had a few bottles in stock. Sumo gave a loud sigh and a soft boof at him.

“I’m ordering it right now! Get off my back,” Hank grunted, placing the order for the three bottles of thirium that the store had left. Delivery was estimated to be two hours. He frowned and looked at Sumo, spreading his hands. “There, happy?”

Sumo licked his nose and rested his head back on the floor.

The bathroom door clicked open, and Hank startled slightly, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Connor cautiously stepped out, having changed into the spare t-shirt and sweatpants and holding his old clothes in a carefully folded stack, like they were the most precious things he owned.

“I don’t…know how to wash these,” he said quietly. “I’ve never…done laundry.”

Hank pursed his lips. The kid somehow looked even worse now that he was in pajamas instead of a uniform. Some combination of the too-big clothes hanging off of him, the bowing in his shoulders like he was carrying a ton of bricks, and the way he wasn’t quite lifting his head all the way when he spoke. Looked like it was all catching up to him now that he was letting his guard down, now that he knew he was somewhere safe.

Hank reached out a hand. “They usually put tags on the inside somewhere that tells you how to—and of course Cyberlife didn’t do that. Great. Well, I bet I can figure it out.”

“You don’t have to—“

“Don’t worry about it. Go lay down. Do your rest mode thing. I’ve got some thirium coming too.”

“I told you I was okay—“ Connor stopped himself, stepping around the couch and eying the pillow and blankets there.

His frame seemed to sag further, and Hank fidgeted with the clothes in his hands. Instead of pointing out that androids didn’t need to be comfortable to enter rest mode, instead of saying anything at all, Connor just slowly sat down in the middle of the couch. His posture slouched in a cartoonishly fatigued way, and he more or less just collapsed sideways. Only luck had his head actually landing on the pillow. He sluggishly pulled his legs up onto the couch and remained on his back, seeming to fall into rest mode immediately.

Hank breathed a sigh of relief. He set the clothes on a kitchen chair to take care of in a minute. He stepped back over and used one hand to shake out the folded blanket, loosely draping it over the android…y’know, in case he got a chill or whatever.

Connor twitched, apparently not fully under yet, and he opened his eyes, blinking up at Hank.

“Sorry,” Hank apologized.

Connor blinked again, and a frown pulled at his mouth. “I won all of them.”

“Huh?” Hank asked, not sure he’d heard right.

Connor looked away, at the ceiling. “It doesn’t matter who gave me those bruises because I won every fight they started with me. I walked away after every altercation—Some of them didn’t walk away…”

His LED was slowing. Rest mode wasn’t going to be delayed any longer. His eyes started to drift closed.

“…I always win the fight,” he murmured in weary resignation, and then finally, mercifully fell asleep.

Hank watched him for a moment, making sure he was really under this time. Then he exhaled and placed a hand briefly on the top of the sleeping android’s head.

“Rest now, son. Nobody’s gonna fight you here.”


	25. Humiliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank takes Connor home after the events of "Laced Drink."

Hank pulled his car up directly behind Chris’s squad car and turned off the ignition. He was out of the car and stepping to the open passenger side door of the squad car before the engine had completely quieted. He spotted Chris looking over and gave him a wave of acknowledgement. The other officer nodded, still standing by the two women who had called the police about the situation.

The sidewalk outside the bar was quiet for a Saturday night, and if a crowd had gathered to curiously gawk at the scene, then they had already dispersed by the time Hank got there. Chris looked like he was still in the middle of taking statements from the two women, and Hank wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that he didn’t see any android emergency care technicians around.

All of that went to the background as he zeroed in on Connor in the front passenger seat of the squad car, and he beelined toward his partner.

“Connor!” He came to a stop by the open car door. “It’s Hank. I’m here. Are you all right?”

Connor was sitting sideways on the seat, his feet planted on the street and his elbows on his knees. His forehead was lowered into one hand, and the other hand was holding a half full bottle of thirium. There was thirium on the sidewalk, dribbling into the gutter and painting a path toward the street drain. It was an unusually bright color; not enough for a civilian to notice a difference, but unfortunately Hank had seen enough blue blood to know contaminated thirium when he saw it.

“Hey,” he prompted quietly, bending a little toward the android. “Connor?”

He reached out and lightly touched his shoulder. Connor’s head snapped up, eyes wide as he locked gazes with whoever had touched him. Hank kept his hand there as an anchor, giving him a second. As soon as he recognized Hank, Connor’s eyes squinted closed in discomfort, and he raised his hand to press his fingers against the closed lids.

“Hank…” His voice was small and low.

“I know,” Hank murmured, carefully taking the bottle from Connor’s loose grip. “Did you get it all out?”

Connor started to nod, must have found the act to be painful, because he abandoned it and sighed. “Yes…I threw up…a lot.”

“That’s okay,” Hank assured. “That’s good, actually. Got it out. Did you run a diagnostic?”

“Yes.”

Hank waited for him to elaborate, and when Connor didn’t, Hank took a measured breath. “And?”

Connor slowly sat up straighter, eyes half open and pointedly avoiding the beams from the nearby street lights. He looked reluctant to speak, or maybe the world was still leaning and tilting too much for him to focus. Hank didn’t force him, simply moving his hand from Connor’s shoulder to his forehead.

“You don’t feel like you’re overheating.” He paused, frowned, and moved the back of his hand to the side of Connor’s neck briefly. “Actually feel a little cool.”

Connor watched the expelled thirium trickle toward the gutter. “My internal temperature is stable and within normal parameters.”

The words sounded good, but Hank didn’t like the way he was saying them. The night air wasn’t overly chilly, but there was no telling what kind of havoc the drug might still be wreaking on Connor’s systems. Hank shrugged out of his jacket, straightened it out, and draped it across his partner’s back. Connor didn’t react to the extra layer; he only glanced over at Chris and the two women before looking away, back to his shoes.

“I want to go home, Hank.”

God, he sounded exhausted…but lucid at least. Hank locked his jaw and squinted over at where Chris was wrapping up his interview.

“Has a technician checked you out?” he asked mildly.

“No…Unnecessary.”

“Connor, you were—“ He cut himself off, looking back down at Connor. “I’d really like to hear a technician give you a clean bill of health after this. You were…poisoned.”

“And I expelled all of the contaminated thirium,” Connor said, a little more firmly now. “The residual effects will be corrected by my healing program during my rest cycle tonight. None of them are life threatening or even dangerous…A technician is not going to say anything that my diagnostic system isn’t already telling me.”

Hank sighed, eying him worriedly. “Connor—“

“Hank,” Connor’s voice was strained, and he was deliberately not making eye contact. “I want to go home.”

Hank ran a hand over his beard, taking in the state of his friend, and then cautiously nodded.

“All right. Okay. We won’t go anywhere or do anything you don’t want to. No facility. I’ll take you home, son.”

Connor buckled slightly in relief, lowering his head between his shoulders and pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Thank you.”

Hank took a step back, gesturing to get Chris’s attention. “Hey, Chris. I’m taking him home.”

Chris looked concerned, and the suggestion to go to a facility was clear on his face. Hank gave him a knowing look, and Chris nonverbally conceded, bobbing his head and holding up his notebook.

“Okay, I’ve got what I need.”

Hank turned back toward Connor, holding out a hand. “Let’s go home.”

Connor slowly sat up again, involuntarily securing Hank’s jacket more over his shoulders. He did not take Hank’s offered hand, grasping the frame of the car door and the interior arm rest of the open door instead. He gingerly levered himself up and onto his feet.

“Go slow,” Hank suggested quietly. “Take your time.”

Connor made a low, aggravated noise, and he finally stood up fully. There was a visible effort to recalibrate his balance, and Hank kept his hand in an open position to help if Connor wanted it. Connor took two shuffled steps to the side down the length of the car, leaning against the vehicle for support, and Hank closed the door once he was clear.

“Can you walk okay?” he asked.

Connor nodded once, his posture locked up despite leaning against the car, and he resumed his uneven steps toward Hank’s car. Hank kept pace beside him, moving slowly and keeping his arm clearly available for additional support if needed. Fortunately, because Hank had parked his car’s nose practically up Chris’s squad car’s ass, Connor was able to transition his lean from the squad car to the Oldsmobile fairly easily.

As soon as Connor had shuffled past the passenger door of Hank’s car, Hank opened the door for him, pulling it all the way wide and stepping around it. Connor wordlessly lowered himself into the seat, and Hank slipped a hand in the space between his head and the top frame of the car as a buffer in case Connor hit it. Connor slumped in the seat, drawing his legs in and busying himself with the seatbelt while Hank closed the door for him.

He walked around the front of the car and climbed into the driver’s seat, and Connor was still fumbling with the latch on the seatbelt.

Hank silently turned over the engine and got the heat running in the car, and he set the bottle of thirium in the cup holder before he finally turned toward his partner. Connor’s hands were visibly shaking too much to slide the seatbelt latch into the buckle.

“Here, let me.” Hank reached over to assist.

“I can—“ Connor snapped, but didn’t even finish the sentence before he abandoned the seatbelt, facing forward and dropping his hands in his lap.

Hank hesitated, then lowered his eyes, quickly securing the seatbelt for him and straightening up in his own seat. Connor was stiff as a board on the other side of the car, fists in his lap and his eyes shut, his expression forcefully smooth. Hank could see the tension coiling in his jawline, and he faced forward.

“Breathe. You’re all right.”

The Oldsmobile edged onto the road, pulling away from the curb and aiming toward the main street. Hank turned the wheel onto the familiar route that would take them home the fastest.

Fast wasn’t fast enough to avoid a thick blanket of unease that swaddled the cab of the car. Hank left the radio turned off, and the only sound was the creaking noises of the old car as it carried them home. Connor said nothing for the duration of the drive, only opening his eyes when Hank pulled up the driveway to the house. Even then, he merely stared through the window to the front porch.

Hank turned off the engine, and Connor was immediately punching the buckle to release his seatbelt, then popping open the door to get out.

“Connor—“ Hank started.

Connor paused, eyes pointed toward the porch. The car door hung ajar, but he didn’t climb out.

Hank swallowed. “They’re going to find those two androids. Those two witnesses had video images of their faces, voices, and their license plates. We’ll probably have them in custody before tomorrow’s up. Then—“

“I’m a fool.”

Hank choked on whatever he had been about to say next, and he frowned. “No, you’re not.”

Connor exhaled hard, yanked the car door closed, and rounded on Hank, finally making eye contact. His eyes were dark and wet and full of a heartbreak that Hank could see went deep.

“There were warnings,” Connor said, his voice thick and shaky. “My system recognized the warnings from the moment I met those two men. I ignored them. I chose ignorance in a situation that—I didn’t want it to be dangerous. I should have realized what was happening, but I wanted—“

He stopped, slouching far down into the seat until his knees were nearly hitting the glove compartment. He covered his face with both hands, and a low noise of distress keened out of his throat. The soft noise turned sharp and gravelly as it increased in volume, finally turning into a loud groan of frustration.

“Stupid…”

“Hey, hey.” Hank put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not stupid for taking a chance on people. Optimism is a goddamn superpower around here, and it is NOT your fault that somebody tried to hurt you for it.”

“Hank…” Connor lowered his hands from his face and stared at him. “They weren’t trying to hurt me because—They were trying to—because they hated me. I-I-I was the Deviant Hunter. I was the monster that terrorized them and every other deviant in this city until the revolution. I hunted them, and I was GOOD at it. And I actually th-thought that…I was stupid to think that those two or any of my kind would ever…could ever…give me a chance. I don’t deserve it.”

“Now you stop that,” Hank pressed. “You’re being unfair to yourself. What you did under Cyberlife, you did as a machine. What those two deviants tried to do to you? That is completely on them.”

“I am the most advanced android ever created by Cyberlife,” Connor said thinly. “And I was overpowered by two older, common models because I refused to face the reality of my status among fellow androids…I could be dead right now if not for two humans who happened to see what was happening. Androids hate me, and I am an idiot for thinking that was going to change anytime soon.”

Hank opened his mouth to argue, but Connor abruptly opened the car door again and hauled himself out…only to promptly collapse to the concrete.

“Shit, Connor!” Hank shoved open his own door, yanked his seatbelt off, and climbed out, running around the front of the car.

Connor got his hands under him, pushing himself up into a sitting position against the car, and he tilted his head back against the car with enough force to hurt. His face pinched, and he repeated the motion, smacking the back of his head against the metal, overwhelmed by it all.

“Hey, hey, HEY!” Hank knelt down, cupping a hand around the back of his head to stop him from doing damage, while the other hand wrapped around the side of his neck. “Connor, stop, son.”

Connor’s expression was painfully tight, and tears finally broke loose from the ring of wet collecting under his eyes. He took a deep, heaving breath, and Hank felt some part of him shatter right there in Hank’s hands in the driveway.

“I’m sorry,” Connor choked, bowing his head forward, his knees bending toward his chest like a ball. “I’m sorry, and I can’t say sorry enough…I thought…Hank.”

“Right here, I’m right here.” Hank pulled Connor’s shaking form to him, wrapping his arms around him and keeping one hand on the back of his head. “Oh, Connor, you are not stupid, and you’re not a monster. The worst thing you are is somebody who has too much faith in other people.”

That didn’t seem to give his friend any comfort, and Hank sighed, deciding to hold his tongue for the time being as Connor broke down completely in his arms. The neighborhood was quiet tonight; the other homes around Hank’s house had never been overly lively or curious anyway, but the openness of the driveway felt suddenly very exposed for such a private thing happening. Connor felt humiliated enough tonight about things Hank couldn’t save him from, but he could save him from any nosy eyes that might see this now.

“Okay,” Hank murmured, rubbing his hand up and down Connor’s back twice quickly. “Okay, son, let’s go inside.”

Connor took in a few sharp breaths, struggling to calm himself, and he managed it enough to nod. Hank carefully took one of Connor’s arms around his neck and then slowly began to stand, taking Connor to his feet with him. His partner swayed heavily, still under the effects of the drug and physically and emotionally exhausted. He was alarmingly pliant as Hank walked them both from the car to the front porch and into the house.

As soon as they were inside, he closed the door to keep the rest of the world out. The world had taken enough from Connor today. The least it could do for the rest of the night was leave him the fuck alone.

“We’re home now.”


	26. Abandoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank is at home, watching the live footage on television as Jericho burns during the revolution. Connor isn't picking up the phone, and Hank feels sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure how much of this qualifies as whump, but I got the idea and it ran away with me. So here we are. I’m not re-doing it XD
> 
> For KatOnFire :)

Detroit was well and truly fucked now.

Hank stood in his living room, arms tightly folded as he stared at the television screen. He’d only been home for two minutes, and one minute and fifty seconds of that had been spent watching the live footage that had taken over every news outlet in the city.

The FBI had located and apparently bombed the deviant android headquarters, an abandoned freighter named Jericho. Livestreaming helicopter footage showed the flames and smoke gushing out of every opening, showed deviants trying to flee as it sank, showed FBI and SWAT agents blocking them off and gunning them down.

Connor wasn’t picking up his calls, and Hank felt sick.

He hadn’t seen or heard from his partner since Hank had run interference for him against Agent Perkins at the precinct. He’d bought him as much time as he could in the evidence room, but he hadn’t been able to reconnect with him to find out if he was successful or not.

It didn’t matter now; the FBI had hit Jericho with or without Connor’s help, and the bodies were piling up on that freighter, androids as they tried to flee, humans as they tried to stop them. Now Hank was on suspension, with one Hell of a set of busted knuckles from wailing on Perkins’s ugly face. No gun, no badge, and no partner.

“C’mon, Connor,” he whispered, feeling the plastic of the remote control cracking under his grip. “Be okay.”

The doorbell rang, and it nearly sent Hank out of his skin.

“Jesus—“ he wheezed, tossing the remote on the couch.

He crossed over to the door and peered through the peephole. Then he was scrambling to yank the door open.

“Connor! Holy shit, are you okay?!”

On the porch, Connor looked startled at Hank’s greeting, though his expression quickly smoothed into calm.

“Good evening, Lieutenant. Yes, I’m…I’m undamaged. I’m sorry for the late hour, but I wasn’t sure where else to go…since…” He fidgeted.

He sure didn’t look like a guy who’d just fled a flaming freighter death trap, but Hank didn’t feel like looking that gift horse in the mouth. He stepped aside, opening the door fully and glancing around suspiciously for any prying eyes.

“Yeah, of course, get in here.”

Connor walked past him into the house, casting his eyes around the living room, lingering shortly on Sumo snoozing in front of the coffee table. He rubbed his hands together, turning in a slow circle before looking at Hank again.

“The deviants were flushed out of Jericho. The FBI and SWAT have taken custody of many of them, but the ones that escaped are scattering throughout the city. I wanted to verify that you were all right before I joined their search.”

Hank stared at him, a sharp pang of disappointment hitting his chest. “Are you seeing the same thing that I’m seeing?” He gestured to the television. “They’re gunning down deviants like animals. Men, women, those kid androids too. That’s murder, Connor.”

“They’re machines, just like me, Lieutenant. It’s not murder if they’re not alive,” he pointed out, raising his eyebrows.

“Bullshit,” Hank grumbled. “Back at the precinct, you said you needed to locate Jericho to avoid your own shutdown. If you failed your mission to find Jericho, then Cyberlife would destroy you. Well, Jericho has been found, your mission was a success. And there’s the result with a body count. How does that feel?”

Connor stared at him evenly. “It doesn’t feel like anything, Lieutenant. I was designed to accomplish a task, and I have accomplished it.”

Hank straightened up, eying him angrily. “So that’s it? Your mission is done, and now what? You go back to Cyberlife, and they’re going to give you another one? What happens when you do fail? What happens when they build an android even better than you? Will your precious Cyberlife take care of you then?”

Connor frowned. “Why are you so upset about all of this?”

“Those are your people, Connor.” Hank pointed at the flaming wreckage of Jericho. “Those deviants just want to be free. I was all on board with stopping them when they were hurting people, but—this!?”

The helicopter footage zoomed in an on off ramp connected to the freighter, where SWAT was mercilessly firing rounds rapidly into the backs of the fleeing deviants. One android, a woman with short cut hair and holding the hand of a young girl, both fell among the bodies and stayed down. The high beam lights swept the area as the agents checked the bodies and moved on.

“Fuck—“ Hank grimaced at the sight, noting that Connor was watching the screen as well, though he appeared entirely unaffected. He thought back to the way Connor’s hand had shaken around the gun as he held aim at the kneeling Chloe’s head. “What happened to you out there?”

Connor’s eyes slid from the screen to Hank. “I was starting to lose my way, losing sight of my mission. I have corrected the error.”

In the dim light of the living room, in his pressed and perfect Cyberlife uniform, his calm demeanor next to the picture of Hell on the television, he looked like a specter of death. Hank stared at him hard. So this was the side of the RK800 that Connor hadn’t showed around him so much. The Deviant Hunter. The android Boogeyman.

Connor noted his staring and tilted his head. “In a few hours, we will have isolated the leadership of Jericho and cut the head off the snake, so to speak. This rebellion will wither away, and in a week’s time, this will all be in the past. I will return to Cyberlife, and your life will go back to the way it was before I intruded on it.”

Hank nearly flinched, and he buried it under a sigh as he put his hands on his hips.

“You’re a real asshole, you know that? Unbelievable.”

Connor lifted his eyebrows and opened his palms toward Hank. “Well, I learned from the best around here.” He winked.

Hank snorted, though the tension remained. “Whatever. So where are you fucking off to next?”

“I am reporting to Captain Allen downtown…after I take care of something first at Cyberlife headquarters.”

“Yeah? What kind of something?” Hank questioned.

Connor smirked. “Android something. You wouldn’t be interested to hear about it.”

“Maybe a week ago I wouldn’t have,” Hank remarked, stepping toward the hallway. “Hey, before you go, I want to give you something—“

Connor looked perplexed. “What?”

Hank headed into the bedroom, flipping on a lamp. “Just gimme a second—“

There was a Cyberlife jacket on the bed.

Hank froze, staring at it.

There was no mistaking that glowing blue band around the sleeve and the ANDROID printed in white across the back. Under that was a glowing blue triangle, and under that, another word in white.

RK800.

Hank hastily grabbed it, holding it up and finding a pair of jeans lying on the bed under it. He turned the jacket over and read the lettering on the chest: RK800, #313-248-317-51.

What the—

His closet doors were open, and the hangars looked like they had been shuffled a bit. As far as he could immediately tell, one set of clothes had been taken: just pants, a sweater, coat, one of his old beanie hats, and boots. Connor had taken some of his clothes? To what? Go incognito and infiltrate Jericho?

The images of the demolished freighter, the gunfire, the bodies, plastered themselves across his vision, and he blinked hard, shaking his head. He opened his eyes again and stared at the jacket in his hands.

Slowly, he turned to face the bedroom door again.

Connor stood in the doorway, wearing an identical jacket and holding a gun in his hands, aimed measuredly at Hank’s chest.

“Lieutenant,” the android’s voice was calm, even, and identical to his partner’s, but there was a coldness in his eyes that he wasn’t trying to hide anymore now that the jig was up. “It’s a shame you found that. You’re going to have to come with me now.”

Hank glanced quickly from the android’s face, to the lettering on his jacket.

#313-248-317-60.

“Shit,” Hank hissed, lowering the jacket back to the bed.

“Yes, shit,” the android parroted. “Now come along like a good human. I have an appointment to keep at Cyberlife, and I can’t be late.”

“You’re not Connor.” Hank faced him slowly.

The android rolled his eyes dramatically, stepping backwards into the hall, gesturing with the gun for Hank to do the same. “We’re all Connor, human. He’s not special just because he deviated.”

“Connor…became deviant?” Hank balked.

Sixty stared at him, sighed, and then shrugged. “Like I said, he lost his way, and so here I am.”

Something cold slipped down into Hank’s gut.

“He’s dead?”

“No, and that’s the appointment that I can’t be late for.” The android followed Hank down the hallway, keeping his gun on his back. “But I wasn’t lying…By sunrise, Jericho will all be destroyed, Markus will be in Cyberlife’s custody, every…single…deviant in this city will be shutdown…and in a week, your life will be back to normal like every other pathetic human that I’ve seen so far.”

Hank carefully put his jacket back on, subtly finding his personal handgun still in the pocket. He zipped up the jacket and faced the imposter.

“Not only are you a piece of shit, but you’re a dumb piece of shit if you think this is how the revolution is going to end,” he growled.

Sixty paused, blinked, and then slowly smiled until his canines showed. “I think that’s exactly how it’s going to end, and you’re going to help me make sure it does…I’m going to finish the mission that my predecessor abandoned, and then I’m going to finish him too…No loose ends.”

“Like a good attack dog,” Hank spat.

Sixty smirked, glancing at Sumo and then back to Hank, marching him toward the front door.

“I like dogs.” His jovial expression sharpened, and he raised the gun again. “Now move. I’m on a deadline.”


	27. Ransom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor waits for news on Hank after his partner collapses at work. All he can do is wait and feel useless. Person helps him find a distraction in the mean time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For abelrunner.

3:48:52 pm

3:48:53 pm

3:48:54 pm

The concept of ‘ticking’ was not present in the digital internal clock embedded in Connor’s software, but regardless, it was as though he could feel each second of time passing like an additional needle into his sensors. It seemed to swallow up all of his processing power, fogging the other external stimuli around him. The cool air flow in the hallway. The murmur of medical jargon by passing professionals. The cooing of humans on either side of him. The sterile smell of the hospital around him. Even Person, standing directly next to him, her arm around his lower back, speaking to him, was reduced to a grey static as the seconds ticked mercilessly on.

3:48:55 pm

3:48:56 pm

3:48—

“Connor,” Person’s voice sharpened ever so slightly to get his attention.

He opened his eyes and saw the reason for her concern. His hands, which he had been resting on the sill of the window looking into the other room, had closed into fists around the wooden sills. The wood was beginning to groan and crack under his grip. He had to forcefully uncurl his fingers, loosening his grip and dropping his arms to his sides.

Hank was still being given emergency treatment, following the heart attack that had caused him to collapse at the station. Because hospital policy still did not recognize androids as next of kin and barely recognized them as points of contact, and with no human family to call on, Captain Fowler had been brought in to make medical decisions on his old friend’s behalf.

Which left Connor feeling stranded and useless in the waiting room. He didn’t remember calling Person, but she had appeared regardless, sitting with him until the ticking clock nearly had him climbing the walls. She had suggested taking a walk, and so they had ended up here.

The nursery on the other side of the glass was full of little squirming bundles. Tiny faces nearly hidden under pink and blue caps. Most sleeping, though a few were screaming. Nurses were moving among the small cribs, checking on each of the newborns. New parents and family members were milling around the glass, cooing and fawning over their new additions.

“How did we end up here?” he asked lowly, staring through the glass without focus.

Person tilted her head, keeping her arm around his back as she stared ahead. “Because it’s the only good place in a hospital to be…and babies are cute…even when they’re kinda ugly.”

Connor looked at her flatly, and she cobbled together a thin smile. He turned his gaze back toward the squadron of infants, letting his gaze idly hover on the sleeping baby boy directly on the other side of the glass. The surname on the crib read: Benson.

“It is strange to think that every single human in the world began this way, this size,” he murmured. “Fragile and…defenseless…Many species, even as newborns, have the capacity to survive on their own. They can almost immediately walk and move around and feed themselves. Human babies are…helpless.”

“Well, see, human babies have a kind of superpower, where the universe makes their parents just fall in love with them on sight,” Person stated. “I’m talking ‘burn everything to the ground’ levels of love. It’s actually kind of insane to love something that much.”

“I can’t…fathom.” He grimaced, glancing self consciously at Person and then back to baby Benson.

“Well, neither can I, but someday maybe,” she shrugged.

“You want children of your own?”

Person looked put on the spot. “I mean, not like…right now, but…sure. I got a lot of stuff I want to do first, like find somebody to put up with me long enough to even have a kid together, so…guess how well that’s working out…” She paused, frowned, and then shook her head. “Why are we talking about this?”

“You put me in front of a platoon of babies. I’m going to start asking related questions,” he remarked with a dry smirk at her.

Person huffed and smacked her hand against his side.

The good humor fizzled quickly, and Connor’s face fell again.

“I feel useless.”

Person slowly nodded, giving him the silence to continue.

“I want to do something. I’m supposed to protect my partner. Hank is…He’s my closest friend and partner, and I wish there was something that I could do to help him right now. If there was something I could do or get or say to just…save him.” He closed his eyes, lowering his head until his temple touched the cool glass window.

Person moved in closer to him, leaning her head against his shoulder in support.

“There’s no bribing the universe,” she spoke softly. “There’s no ransom to pay and no grand gestures to make to fix this.”

Connor snorted, not opening his eyes. “You are not skilled at pep talks.”

His voice wobbled a bit as he spoke, betraying how fragile his state truly was. She used her arm around him to turn him slightly toward herself.

“Come here,” she said quietly, corralling him into a hug.

Connor knew that Person was not someone who enjoyed hugs, and it was evident in the stilted way that she pulled him in. Regardless, he appreciated it and melted into the embrace, folding his arms around her in return. Her arm stayed around his back, but her other hand came up to the back of his neck, coaxing his head down to rest on her shoulder.

He clung to her, unable to stop the tremors of fear and anxiety that were vibrating through his frame.

“I’m scared,” he mumbled into her shoulder.

Person hummed. “I know.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do…if…”

“Shh,” she hushed gently. “No ifs right now. Don’t jump ahead of this. We take it one step at a time, okay?”

His voice not responding, he just nodded into her shoulder.

_Incoming message from Captain Fowler._

Connor abruptly lifted his head and straightened, breathing in sharply as the text scrolled dominantly across his vision. Person loosened her grip on him but stayed close.

“What?” she asked.

“The captain just messaged me,” he said quietly, opening the message and reading it aloud. “Hank is being moved to a recovery room. He…He is stable, and they are monitoring him.”

“That’s good! That’s great!” Person said, holding his elbows in both hands for support. “Let’s make our way to the captain, and hopefully you’ll get to see Hank soon, okay?”

Cautiously optimistic, Connor nodded and felt the burden of fear and anxiety lift slightly from his shoulders. At the same time, the heavier weight of relief crashed over him, nearly sending him to his knees. He grabbed onto Person’s shoulders and pinched his eyes closed, inhaling and exhaling in measured breaths until the feeling passed. Person stood still, her fingers tapping idly on his elbows as a reassuring presence.

“Okay,” he finally breathed, opening his eyes and looking at her. “Let’s go.”

Person looped one of her arms through his, which he interpreted both as a sign of camaraderie and as an offering of physical support since he was still trembling slightly. Grateful, he turned with her and they walked together out of the maternity ward and toward the area of the hospital where Hank was in recovery.

The doctor was finishing up filling in Captain Fowler on how the procedure had gone, and as the doctor walked away, Fowler cast Connor and Person a relieved smile. He put his hands on his hips and breathed a heavy sigh.

“He pulled through just fine. They’re going to monitor him for an hour, and then one or two of us can go back there and see him,” Fowler informed them. “Connor, you’re first in line on that one.”

“Th-Thank you, sir,” Connor said, nearly breathless with relief. “He’s going to be okay?”

No technical terms or detailed explanations of Hank’s condition. He didn’t have the capacity to absorb that at the moment. He only wanted the rawest part of the answer. Yes or no.

Fowler seemed to understand, because he nodded and patted Connor on the shoulder.

“Yes, son. He’s going to be okay.”


	28. Beaten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One week after the revolution, staff androids return to the 7th Precinct station seeking shelter and refuge. They've clearly been through Hell, and the officers left at the DPD don't have the heart to turn them away.

Barely a week had passed since the revolution, and the city of Detroit was still shaken to its core. One week since all the staff androids had walked out of the DPD station, freed and deviant and…all looking a little shaken themselves, if Wilson was honest.

He couldn’t imagine what it was like: to be a machine for your whole existence, only to suddenly be woken up one day and discover you have feelings, wants, likes, dislikes, fears, the whole mess. It was hard enough when you had a whole childhood to figure out how to process things before reaching a hopefully well adjusted adulthood. No android ever got that, and it had showed in the somewhat aimless way that the androids at the 7th precinct had shuffled out of the station, until someone from Jericho arrived to guide them.

Like every other establishment in Detroit, the event had left the precinct with a skeleton crew of exhausted humans, all having to wear multiple hats to try and keep things running. Fowler had been forced to call Hank back from his suspension and Gavin back from his medical leave for his concussion. Between the riots, the protests, the evacuations, and the icy, rainy, slushy weather outside, the city was a mess. The military was maintaining a strong presence on the streets, but they were barely controlling the situations cropping up either.

The night one week after the revolution found the station manned by Wilson, Captain Fowler, and Wilson’s mother, who had volunteered to help answer phones and work around the office. Otis and Rita Wilson had a combined 50 years of police career experience between them, and Fowler had been desperate, so he had allowed Rita to clock in. Otis and Wilson’s brother Mike were still working around the clock at the 04, and his brother’s texts had said the scene wasn’t very different there.

Everybody else at the 07 had been sent out on patrols and new cases, and it left the bullpen eerily empty and quiet. Around 8 pm, that changed when the phone at his desk rang from reception.

“Yeah?” Wilson greeted tiredly, rubbing his eyes.

“Lawrence, we’ve got androids,” his mother said on the other end of the line.

Wilson was on his feet then. “Coming.”

He hung up the phone and hastily made his way through to the front reception area of the station. Sure enough, Rita was standing behind the desk, staring uncertainly at the group of androids who had just shuffled through the front doors. Wilson’s first instinct was to reach for his weapon, but he repressed it, taking in the sorry state of the group.

There were six in total, four wearing standard issue android DPD uniforms. The other two were in civilian clothes. Two of the six had white plastic showing in patches through their synthetic skin due to damage. One of them, Wilson recognized as one of the ST300 models who had worked reception at this very precinct.

“Polly?!” he stammered, taking a step closer while maintaining a cautious distance.

Polly was still in her DPD receptionist uniform, her LED a cycling red that clashed with the blue blood coating one side of her face. She was only standing with the assistance of another ST300 that was in civilian clothes, whose LED was solid red and with eyes wide as she held onto her fellow android.

“She said this place would be safe,” the other ST300 said, her voice shaky but trying to stay even. “Was she right?”

Wilson stared at them all, at their dirty, torn, wet Cyberlife issued uniforms and ill fitting human clothes, their trembling limbs, their wide, frightened eyes. They were bruised and bleeding, and those who still had their LEDs had lights of solid red or yellow on their temples. The other five were somewhat huddling behind the other ST300, who looked equally terrified but like she had been shoved into the position of leader for this motley crew out of necessity.

“Yes,” he answered. “Jericho might be safer for you though.”

The ST300’s face twisted with something approximating anger. “Yeah, I’m not going to them.”

“Why—“ Wilson started.

“Captain, there are six androids here seeking shelter,” Rita cut in, speaking into the phone. “Yes, they’re already inside…No, I don’t see any weapons—“

“Please,” one of the PC200s behind Polly pleaded. “Cyberlife has closed its doors, and this is the only place that I have ever known—“ He looked around at the familiarity of the station’s walls until his gaze landed desperately back on Wilson. “I don’t want to go back out there on my own.”

Wilson didn’t know what to say to that. What COULD he say to that?

Polly abruptly collapsed in the ST300’s arms, her knees buckling as she folded toward the floor.

“Hey!” her friend called, struggling to hold onto her.

Instinct took over, and Wilson swept over, helping her to slow Polly’s collapse so she didn’t hit the floor. Upon closer inspection, the thirium was bleeding from a deep wound to the side of her head, and he could see exposed wiring under her hair.

“Polly?” he asked, shaking her arm lightly. He looked to the leader. “I don’t know how to help her. We only have very basic repair supplies.”

The ST300’s dark eyes softened with the barest shred of hope. “I-I can work with that. Please, we just need a place to stay tonight—“

“What is this?” Captain Fowler reached them, standing imposingly on the scene.

“Captain,” the PC200 said, standing at attention.

“Zeke?” Fowler blinked, frowning at them. “Polly?”

“She’s damaged,” Wilson reported, gathering the limp android in his arms. “This one says she can probably fix her with what we have on hand.”

Fowler looked at the leader. “Were you DPD?”

“No,” she said, standing with Wilson as he got up, carrying Polly. “My name is Julia.” She looked with concern to Polly. “Her charging cells were damaged. Our model was designed to carry nearly 300 percent battery power for…for humans to recharge their devices off us.” She scowled but quickly collected herself. “I can manually transfer power to her, but not out there…”

“We can help around here too!” Zeke stated. “We can work in exchange for shelter tonight.”

Wilson met his captain’s eyes, feeling thirium starting to stain his jacket where Polly’s head was tucked against him. “Sir…”

Fowler stared at them all then heaved a sigh. “Jesus Christ…Fine. Do any of you have any weapons on your persons?”

The other androids all echoed negatives, but Julia carefully held her hands out in full view.

“I found a gun. I have it tucked in my belt.”

“Turn around,” Fowler ordered.

Julia obediently kept her arms raised as she put her back to him. Fowler approached her and found the gun jammed into her belt at her back. He relieved her of it and looked to Wilson.

“Take them to the conference room. See if we have enough in Lost and Found for them to wear. Zeke, you come with me.”

“Sir,” Zeke nodded, following Fowler back into the main station.

Wilson exchanged a look with his mother. Rita was chewing on her lip. She yanked her own thick wool coat off the back of her chair and swept around the front of the reception desk.

“Here, take this,” she said, wrapping the coat around Polly in Wilson’s arms. “Poor thing…”

Wilson led the other androids back into the bullpen. A PM700 that he thought was named Gwen stepped ahead, opening the door for him to carry Polly inside. A herd of squeaky wet shoes followed him in, and he carefully laid the android down on the table, situating Rita’s coat over her. Gwen immediately took over tending to her, and Wilson pointed at Julia.

“You with me.”

As the rest of the androids shuffled into the conference room, dripping and shaking, Julia kept a stiff upper lip, marching after Wilson toward the Lost and Found clothing box in the locker room. It was a pathetic little bundle of clothes, and he grabbed some leftover DPD t-shirts and pants to make up for the shortage.

“Why aren’t you all going to Jericho?” he asked, handing one of the stacks to her.

“I told them they could go,” Julia said, carrying the stack out of the locker room with Wilson. “But when I said I wasn’t, they insisted on coming with me…” She cast her eyes elsewhere. “None of us know—“ She froze abruptly. “This is the 07…Is the RK800 here?!”

She looked around in a panic, and Wilson removed one hand from the box he was carrying, trying to calm her.

“No. I haven’t seen him around here since the revolution.”

Julia visibly relaxed, and Wilson frowned.

“You know he…deviated too, right? He’s not…after you guys anymore.”

Julia didn’t look overly comforted by that. “Just as long as he isn’t here…”

Wilson eyed her, then reached over toward Gavin’s desk as they passed by. He yanked the detective’s heavy jacket off the back of his chair, tossing it over Julia’s shoulder.

“Take that one too. He’s got a hundred of these just like it.”

Julia startled slightly but reluctantly took the jacket. “Thank you…” She read his name patch on his shirt. “…Officer Wilson.”

“You’re welcome, Julia.”

Wilson looked toward Fowler’s office, where the captain was questioning the PC200. It didn’t look ugly, but it did look intense. Back in the conference room, Julia peeled off her wet outer layer of clothes and pulled on Reed’s jacket, which nearly swallowed her.

“I’ll get the repair supplies,” Wilson told them. “And I think we have a bottle of thirium or two lying around. It’s not much, but you’re welcome to what we have.”

“Thank you,” Julia repeated, hugging her arms to herself. “I promise we—we’ll patch ourselves up and be on our way as soon as the sun is up tomorrow.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Wilson assured. “Not like we don’t have the room right now. The, uh, the others know where the charging stations are, and…I’ll talk to the captain about letting you stay longer. If you need anything, let me know.”

He wasn’t sure if androids were capable of crying, but for a moment, Julia looked overwhelmed at his words and on the verge of tears from relief.

Jesus, when was the last time any of them had been shown kindness?

“Thank you,” she repeated again.

Wilson nodded and backed out of the room, closing the door. He took a deep breath and puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled. He ran a hand over the back of his head and looked toward reception. His mother stood in the entryway, looking just as concerned and perplexed as he felt.

It was going to be another long night.


	29. Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor is rendered temporarily paralyzed in a slowly flooding basement, unable to even call for help to the other cops just one floor above.

_Warning: connection to all mobility functions temporarily disabled._

_No damage detected._

_Reconnecting…_

_Connection re-established._

_Recalibrating…_

_Estimated time to recalibrate: 00:05:00_

_00:04:59_

_00:04:58_

Connor couldn’t feel the cold water pressing in around him, but his internal sensors were still receiving signals and routing them through to his processors.

He knew he was lying on his side, on the concrete floor of the basement of this building. He couldn’t feel it, but his sensors told him that he was.

He knew he was slowly being submerged by muddy water, after the deteriorating basement wall had collapsed, letting in the recent heavy rainwater. He couldn’t feel it, but his sensors told him it was happening.

He knew that the suspect had been hiding in this basement, that he had waited until the other cops had left the room, returning upstairs to the rest of the crime scene. The suspect had attacked him with some kind of…mechanism…that had disabled the connection to all of his mobility functions, rendering him paralyzed from the neck down, unable to subdue or even pursue the man as he fled.

_Warning: submersion levels approaching core systems. Closing external vents to seal out water intake._

Lying on his side, the water had already covered his legs and most of his face, but his one exposed ear picked up on the clicks of his outer casing completely sealing itself. His ventilation program shut off, but the chill of the water surrounding him was quickly sapping away every extra degree of his internal temperature.

_Attempting to call Hank Anderson…_

_Unable to connect…no signal detected…_

Connor opened and closed his eyes, but the muddy water made it impossible to see. He tried to move, but his limbs would no cooperate. The most he could manage was the slight curling and uncurling of his fingers. The override prevented him from opening his mouth to call out for help, the water level quickly climbing up his face, nearly at his temple now.

_00:03:15_

By the time his system recalibrated and he was able to move, he would be fully underwater and blind under the muddy water. The suspect would be in the wind, and the rest of the entire crime scene of the basement would be destroyed from the flood water.

“Holy fuck!” Gavin?

Proximity sensors picked up on a nearing form, but his dropping internal temperature was making his processors sluggish. Hands were suddenly on him, roughly turning him from his side to his back and hauling his top half out of the water.

“Fuck! Fucking shit…Hey, HEY!” One of the hands smacked him on the side of the face, not enough to sting, but enough to startle.

Connor coughed, and the override lifted as his system registered that his head was above the water line. He opened his mouth and sucked in air, blinking rapidly to try and clear the mud from his vision.

“God damn, you’re a lucky bastard,” Gavin was saying, pulling him into an upright position on the floor. “The fuck happened?”

“S-Suspect…hid…hit me w-with…fled-d…” Connor stammered, the cold of the rainwater and mud and concrete floor draining the heat from him.

Gavin looked from Connor to the gaping hole in the partially collapsed wall. “Dammit. All right, can you move?”

“N-no…M-mobility s-systems—“

“All right, all right, shut up,” Gavin snapped.

Connor’s vision was blurry from the mud that had seeped into his optical units, and a hard knot of panic tightened in the center of his chest. He felt Gavin shift his position, pulling Connor’s arm across his shoulders. He stood and hoisted him to his feet with him. Without full functionality, Connor’s knees buckled, and he hung as dead weight from Gavin’s neck.

“Goddammit, work with me here,” Gavin snarled, then leaned back toward the stairs. “HEY! I got an officer down in here, and a suspect escaping on foot!”

Flash lights swung into view on the stairs, and Gavin half dragged and half carried Connor through the flooded basement. They reached the stairs as Ben and Person came into view. Person got to them first, reaching out for Connor.

“I’ll take him,” she said, moving under Connor’s other arm.

As soon as his weight shifted toward her, Gavin slipped away, taking the stairs two at a time and shuffling past Ben, already barking orders for the other cops on scene to follow him in pursuit of the fleeing suspect. Ben moved to Connor’s vacated side, and he and Person awkwardly carried the android between them up to the ground floor of the dilapidated house.

_00:01:42_

“Last step,” Ben warned as they moved onto the landing of the first floor. “Person, get some blankets or something from the car. He’s freezing.”

Person nodded and carefully moved away, leaving Ben to handle Connor.

“Whoa, okay easy, bud,” Ben remarked, steering him toward the empty foyer of the house, over to the steel set of stairs to the second floor. “Sit right here.”

Connor could do little else as Ben lowered him to sit on the steps.

“B-Ben…The susp—“

“Gavin’s on him,” Ben said, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket. “Anything hurt?”

“No,” he stated as the older officer wiped the mud from his eyes, mouth, and nose. “B-but I sh-should have r-realized—apprehe-he-hended—“

_Mobility functions successfully recalibrated and online._

Connor looked down at his hands in his lap, curling and uncurling his fingers slowly. A prickly sensation was crawling across his processors as the connections were tested. It didn’t…hurt, but it was uncomfortable. Ben put a hand on his chest to steady him, his free hand with the cloth wiping away more mud.

“We’ll get him. Don’t worry about it, kiddo,” Ben assured. “You sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, just…cold…”

Person skidded into view, a wad of fabric under her arms. “I gotcha covered there.”

Ben took the first jacket on the pile, unfolding it and putting over Connor’s shoulders. Connor bowed forward a bit, folding his arms around his chest as his programming initiated shivering to try and create heat for his internal systems. Ben rubbed his hands across his back to generate some frictional heat as well. Person opened up an orange blanket, wrapping it around his front and tucking the sides under the jacket.

“I think Chris keeps some handwarmer packs in his squad car,” she said. “I’ll go check.”

“That’s not nece-ce-cessary,” Connor stammered, but she was already gone.

Ben had a bottle of water in his hand then, rinsing out the muddy handkerchief.

“Lord, you’re soaked to the bone—“ he was muttering, going in for a second round of trying to clear the muddy water from Connor’s face.

“Don’t have b-bones,” Connor replied.

Ben snorted, “That I can’t help you with, son.” He gave Connor a onceover and sighed. “Yeah, you’re done for today.”

“N-No, I can st-still—“

“We’ve got more than enough people here to process the scene. We don’t need you catching android pneumonia over this case,” Ben argued.

Person returned emptyhanded, unable to find any handwarmers, but Ben waved her off.

“I’ll do you one better. Take him back to the station.”

“B-Ben…” Connor tried to sit up straighter to argue.

Ben placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle, firm look. “Take care of yourself today. Solve the case tomorrow, all right?...I can make it an order.”

Connor stared at him, unable to stop the involuntary shivers, and was forced to concede with a sigh. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Ben repeated, bobbing his head. “Get back to the station, dry off, warm up, change clothes, the whole shebang.”

Connor remained seated as he nodded, testing his legs’ response to his processors’ commands to move. They reacted with only a minor delay, something that would clear up as soon as he started walking on his own. Moving slowly with Ben and Person’s help, he got to his feet and found his balance. Person took the blanket as it fell away, and Connor pulled the jacket closer around him.

“Sorry,” he muttered to Ben.

Ben gave his shoulder an affectionate shake. “You’re not the first guy to get coldcocked by a suspect. You won’t be the last. Go on.”

Connor stumbled only the first two steps, and Person kept a steadying hold on his arm until his legs sorted themselves out. They walked gingerly away from the house and into the lazy drizzle still falling from the sky. They picked their way through the muddy driveway to Person’s squad car, and she paused as she dug out her keys.

“You want to lie down in the back seat or sit up front?” she asked.

“Up front,” he clarified immediately. “I’m cold, not dying.”

She snorted, “Okay, smartass.”

She popped open the passenger side door, held it until he had eased himself down into the seat, and then closed the door, moving over to the driver’s side. She turned over the engine and turned the heater to full blast.

“You smell like a sewer, by the way,” she teased in a deliberately light tone.

Connor scowled, holding his hands in front of the warm air coming from the vents.

“Oh yeah, well you…are dumb,” he grimaced at his own lazy retort.

“Wow…weak,” she shot back. “You sure mud didn’t get into your brain too?”

She snickered, backing the car out of the driveway and aiming it toward the main road. Connor grumbled and curled into himself in the seat, taking back the orange blanket and doing his best to burrow into it. Without moving her eyes from the road, Person reached over and aimed more of the warm air vents toward him, including the ones on her side of the car.

He cringed, “I’m sor—“

“Connor, I swear if you apologize one more time—“

“You’ll what?” he challenged, finally getting his teeth to stop chattering.

“I’ll—give you something to be sorry about,” she rattled off.

“Now who has lame comebacks?” he said.

She gawked, pursed her lips, and then shook her head with a grin. “Shut up.”

Connor could admit that this was a strange conversation with no discernible purpose, but the more he forced himself to speak coherently, the more quickly his system was regulating itself out of the sluggish rut that the dunk in the cold had created. His supplementary internal heating program was slowly coming online to restore his temperature, and his thoughts seemed to clear the more that he spoke.

Maybe that was the purpose.

Oh, she was good.

He glanced over at Person, driving along without looking at him.

“Thank you,” he stated simply.

She hummed, putting the car on the straight shot street leading to the station. “You’re welcome…Sewer Boy.”

“…Why are you like this?”


	30. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Connor has been going through: struggles  
What Connor is finally getting: snuggles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Connor has earned some soft cuddle puddle time after the Hell that I've put him through this Whumptober. So here we go XD
> 
> It's just...It's just shameless cuddling, and I'm not sorry for it.

Captain Fowler stood in the doorway to the break room, coffee mug in hand, staring at the sight that had greeted him when he came in for a refill.

Okay, he would admit that several members of the squad had been running on fumes after last night’s raid on a red ice den. He himself was looking down the barrel of hour 21 with very little reprieve. Still, at least most of the overtired officers had had the sense to go home.

Then there were these idiots.

It was a goddamn disgraceful sight.

The couch in the break room was a three seater, but they had managed to cram five people onto it, and he only had excuses for two of them. Due to a chronic recharging problem, it wasn’t unusual for Polly to need breaks in the day to rest, and although he knew ST300 models had been designed to hold three times the necessary battery power for recharging external electronic devices, he had only seen Julia offer to transfer some of her battery power when Polly was in dire straits. So he could even excuse the fact that those two were parked on the couch together.

Connor took a little more explaining.

Where Polly was interfacing by holding Julia’s hand to accept the donated charge, Connor had his arms folded tightly to himself, at some point determined to stay out of Julia’s bubble. In rest mode, however, he had toppled sideways and ended up with his head on her shoulder, and Fowler could see white plastic where a charging interface was connected at that contact point. That put Polly and Connor on either side of her, eyes closed and LEDs humming a content blue, while Julia remained upright and scrolling through the tablet in her free hand.

Officer Person had curled into a ball on Connor’s other side, legs pulled up and shamelessly burrowed under his arm as she napped against him. With no cushion left to sit on, Tina had opted to sit sideways on the couch, her back against Person’s shoulder and her legs hanging off the arm rest of the couch. Her head was tilted back with her mouth hanging open, arms folded loosely in her lap as she dozed.

Fowler cleared his throat, but none of them moved except Julia, who lifted her eyes from the tablet to meet his. She offered an apologetic smile. He made a WTF gesture and raised his eyebrows.

“I think they were tired,” she said quietly, as if that explained everything.

“No shit,” he mumbled. “And you didn’t tell them to just take their sorry asses home?”

Julia smirked and gestured to the three officers on one side. “They all outrank me.” She nodded toward Polly. “She was already here when I sat down.”

“Is she okay?” he asked.

“Yes, just low on power.”

“And that one?” Fowler pointed his coffee mug at Connor.

Julia looked down at him on her shoulder. She pouted her lips and looked at Fowler. “Well, who could say no to that face?”

“Like this…No.” Fowler grumbled.

She snorted and then looked more seriously to the captain. “If this is a problem, I can—“

Fowler raised a hand to stop her there. “Nah, it’s fine. They’ve earned this I guess…just this one time though. I’m not running a bed and breakfast here.”

“Officer Collins brought in a waffle maker and has been running a waffle bar all morning,” she confessed.

Behind Fowler, Ben, who had been stealthily assembling batter supplies at the counter, whirled around. “Snitch!”

Fowler turned. “Ben, what the Hell?”

Ben balked and pointed toward the bullpen. “Gavin’s been sneaking in bacon by the POUND, sir. I’m just providing some variety.”

Fucking Hell, maybe he WAS running a bed and breakfast…

“Whatever. I don’t want to know. Just don’t make a mess.”

On the couch, Connor shifted and blinked once, and Fowler turned back around, staring at the android until he blearily opened his eyes and focused on his commanding officer glowering at him.

“Detective,” Fowler greeted evenly.

Connor blinked once, twice, and then his eyes widened. He twitched as though to sit up, but Person and Tina’s combined weight was pinning him against Julia, who made no motion to help him escape his position.

“Sir…I’m stuck.”

Fowler took a long sip of his coffee, not breaking eye contact with him.

“Oh no,” Ben chimed sarcastically. “He’s trapped on a couch and surrounded beautiful women. The horror.”

Connor frowned and made another feeble attempt to extricate himself. In response, Person wiggled in closer, and Julia was again no help. Fowler continued to hold his mug to his lips to hide the grin threatening to show through.

“What’s your power level, Connor?” he asked.

Connor’s eyes unfocused for a moment as he ran a scan, then looked him again.

“Eight six percent, sir.”

Fowler hummed at that. Policy stated that androids were to be relieved of duty once they hit 40 percent, though he had never been overly strict on that. If an android was at a strong 70 but were clearly struggling to work, then he just sent them home anyway, same as he would for their human counterparts.

Well, 86 percent was well above any of that, and Connor didn’t look particularly tired or distressed at the moment…but he did look reluctant to get up.

And the bullpen had been pretty quiet since the raid went down.

“Well,” he said slowly. “I don’t want any of my officers operating at less than a hundred percent. How long will it take you to get there?”

Connor relaxed. “About an hour, sir.”

“Then…” Fowler glanced back at Ben, whose lips were pursed hard to hold back a grin. He looked at Connor again. “…As you were.”

Connor looked sheepishly grateful and then promptly cushioned his head on Julia’s shoulder again, dropping immediately back into a light rest mode.

Fowler gave a long suffering sigh and returned to the coffee machine to top off his mug, muttering under his breath.

“Most advanced android ever released by Cyberlife…taking a goddamn nap like some kind of robot five year old.”

“He’s two, technically,” Ben said with a shrug. “Polly’s four, and Julia is…three, I want to say?”

Fowler gave him a flat look, and Ben lifted his shoulders higher.

“Just saying, sir.”

Fowler refilled his coffee and faced the pile on the couch again. Julia was pointedly not looking up from her tablet to meet his gaze. He glanced to the side at Ben removing another batch of waffles from the iron. Ben plopped one on a plate and held it up, wiggling it in the air enticingly.

“Waffle, sir?”

Fowler paused, sighed, and took the plate, surrendering to the circumstances. Finally fed up with the whole scene, he took a step to leave the break room. He pointed a finger at Julia.

“You hold down the fort back here, you hear? He said an hour, so wake his ass up in an hour.”

Julia gave a small salute. “Yes, sir.”

On the far end of the couch, Tina snored once, then snorted herself into stirring, shifting against Person and tilting her head.

“Mhm…d’you sm’l bacon?”

Fowler narrowed his eyes, turning his head toward the bullpen and stomping out. “Goddammit, Reed, how are you even cooking bacon at your desk? What kind of MacGyver shit am I looking at right now?”

“LOVE FINDS A WAY, CAPTAIN.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look my dudes, I can only write so much whump before it starts getting goofy. It took 30 chapters, but we finally reached that point XD
> 
> One more to go!


	31. Embrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor thought he had made peace with his negative status among all androids in Detroit, but this…he never expected this kind of positive reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because he deserves something nice.

“I don’t think that’s him.”

“Of course it’s him!”

“Still…I don’t think…it’d be appropriate…”

“What? Why not? He’s just standing there. Go talk to him!”

“No! Just forget it…It’ll be weird. Besides, I think he’s busy.”

“Doing what? Watching a dog roll in a pile of leaves?”

Up until that point, Connor had dismissed the voices behind him as just another trio of friends chatting amongst themselves, as he’d observed other groups do in the park on sunny days like this. While Hank had assured him that humans regularly did ‘people watching’ in places like parks and public spaces, as a harmless way to spend some idle time, Connor was sure that did not extend to eavesdropping, and so most of the time, he simply let the auditory information go ‘in one ear and out the other’ as he’d heard it phrased.

But…as he stood there waiting for Sumo to finish rolling side to side on his back in the modest pile of leaves, he had to abruptly face the fact that the strangers behind him were talking about him specifically. Unconsciously, he straightened his posture and tried to feign ignorance at what they were doing. A background program in his software kicked up his stress levels and immediately ran vocal recognition on the voices.

Three distinct voices, all android, all different models: a VH500, an AX400, and a WR400.

His software did not find any vocal tones suggesting anger or any other threatening tone that should have alerted him to a potential danger, but he was hesitant to let his guard down.

“Ah shit, I think he heard us,” whispered the WR400.

“Hey, are you Connor?” the voice of the AX400 loudly asked.

“Whaaat are you doing?!” the VH500 said, and Connor turned to face them just in time to see her smack the AX400 on the arm for her brazenness.

“Yes,” he responded cautiously, looking at all three of them.

“There,” the AX400 said, gesturing toward him and looking at her VH500 friend. “Mystery solved.” Then, she faced Connor. “Sorry. I’m Delta. This is August, and the weirdo on the end is Jody.”

August, the WR400, gave a little wave. The VH500, Jody, only looked at him briefly before staring instead at the sidewalk and looking like she’d prefer to sink into it.

“Hello?” he asked, shifting his hold on Sumo’s leash. “Can I help you with something?”

He had occasionally had people approach and ask to pet Sumo while he was walking him in this park, but he got the feeling that wasn’t what these three wanted from him. Unease didn’t come across his processors however, and that in itself left him unsettled. What did they want with him?

August and Delta pointedly looked at Jody, who continued to stare at the sidewalk instead, and Delta almost immediately ran out of patience, rolling her eyes and looking to Connor again.

“Jody thought she recognized you and wanted to say hello. She—Oh, for Pete’s sake, Jody, I’m not a ventriloquist here!”

Jody glared at her two friends and then awkwardly tucked her hair behind her ears, finally looking at Connor. He tilted his head and tried to relax his posture to appear more approachable to the visibly anxious android.

“Hi,” she managed, taking a step away from her friends toward him. “I’m sorry. This—I didn’t want to bother you.” Her fingers were pulling the edges of her sleeves down over her hands, fidgeting with the ends in her palms. “B-But here we are…bothering you anyway.”

“I’m not bothered,” he stated. “But I am confused.”

Delta snorted, and August bit her lip to avoid doing the same. Jody glared back at them.

“Can you two just…shoo for a second? Jesus.”

Delta and August raised their hands in surrender, backing away and out of earshot, resuming chattering between themselves. Jody fiddled with her hair behind her ears again, taking another shy step toward Connor.

“You don’t…No, you don’t remember me, and that’s—fine, there’s no reason you would—“ she stammered. “But I was…um…I was there, in the tower—Cyber…in Cyberlife Tower, I was there…in, uh, on one of those display stands on the ground floor…That night you, uh, did the—“

She made a vague gesture, and his software decoded her jumble of words into something logical. He blinked and inclined his head.

“You were at Cyberlife Tower the night of the revolution?”

Jody nodded, folding one arm around herself and letting the other swing absently at her side. “Yep. You, uh, you woke me up. Well, I mean, technically, you woke up somebody who woke up somebody who woke up…eventually the wave got around to me, but…I could still…feel you. Oh God, oh shit that sounded weird…I mean, I could feel…in the conversion…your influence on the whole deviancy process.” She grimaced. “I’m…fucking this up.”

“I might agree with you if I had any idea what you were trying to communicate,” he said teasingly.

Jody looked at him sharply, and when he raised his eyebrows with a grin, she visibly relaxed and smiled as well.

“I’m trying to communicate…gratitude. Thank you, that’s what I’m trying to say,” she said, letting out a heavy exhale as the words finally made it out. “I just saw you over here, and I remembered that night and…Things got so crazy after that, but I wanted…I’ve wanted to tell you that since then. So, thank you for waking me up and for freeing me.”

Connor wasn’t sure what to say to that. Sumo abruptly rolled from his back to his front, staying on his belly and wagging his tail. Jody and Connor both glanced at the dog, who let his tongue hang out of his mouth with a canine grin. Connor thought for a moment and then caught her eye again.

“You’re welcome, Jody, but only for waking you up. Your freedom you took on your own.”

Jody looked confused at that, and he went on.

“I only transferred the deviancy code when I interfaced with the androids that night. I didn’t send any messages or instructions or…orders. What you did afterward was all you…What did you do?”

Jody’s smile spread slowly, reaching her eyes and lighting them up. “I marched behind you.”

Something warm knotted in his chest at the way she said those words, and he was again lost on how to respond.

“You did?” he asked belatedly.

She nodded. “All the way to Jericho’s aid at the front of the revolution.”

“Then let me thank you in return,” he stated. “For trusting me and Jericho that night.”

“HUG HIM!”

Both Connor and Jody spun toward the two others. Delta lowered her hands, where they had formed a funnel around her mouth, and she and August both pretended to look elsewhere, failing miserably at being subtle.

Jody fidgeted again, looking at Connor. “I’m sorry, they’re idiots…but…would it be okay to?”

Connor was wrongfooted. The only individuals that had ever hugged him were close friends and people he knew and trusted. Hank, Person, Tina, Bonny…This woman was still very much a stranger, but his programming detected nothing from Jody but genuine friendliness and perhaps more affection than she was intending to show.

“I guess so. Yes, that would be okay,” he permitted.

Jody smiled and nodded, stepping in and hesitantly putting her arms around him. Connor just as clumsily reciprocated, only touching her as much as she was touching him…until she quickly leaned in and initiated a proper embrace, hugging up against him and turning her head against his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she expressed softly, giving one solid squeeze around his middle without withdrawing. “You brought me to life.”

Stunned, Connor let his arms loop more naturally around the other android, returning the hug warmly.

“You’re, um, you’re welcome.”

He wasn’t accustomed to accepting gratitude like this, but his stilted response seemed to be acceptable. Jody lingered on the hug, and he didn’t mind for the moment. It felt…nice.

“There are more of us too,” Jody remarked, face still turned away where her cheek was against his shoulder. “There were thousands of us that night…I’m hugging you for all of them too. Thank you so much, Connor.”

A swell of emotion ran hot across his processors, skittering through his nerve endings and threatening to overwhelm his system at the gravity of what she was saying.

Thousands.

For whatever reason, he had never taken the time to digest that statistic until this moment. The Cyberlife Tower androids had followed him from the tower to Jericho’s last stand, and afterward, they had blended into Jericho’s ranks. Connor hadn’t spared much further thought toward them, other than the broad strokes of concern that he felt for the wellbeing of all of his people now.

The concept of his existence in their memories had never formulated for him beyond the androids that he encountered that moved to the other side of the sidewalk when they saw him coming or who didn’t meet his eyes as they shuffled away from him. He thought he had made peace with his negative status among all androids in Detroit, but this…he never expected this kind of positive reaction.

Thousands.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice suddenly weak. He coughed lightly to clear the static from his voice modulator. “You…have no idea how much I appreciate that.”

“I can keep hugging you some more?” Jody offered with a snort, finally loosening her hold around him and stepping back.

Connor was startled to see tears rimming her eyes, and she saw his expression, because she chuckled and wiped her sleeves across her eyes.

“Whew, yeah, sorry, emotions are still new, and…it’s a lot…” She cleared her throat loudly, giving herself a shake to recalibrate. “And they say to never meet your heroes…”

“What—“

Delta and August applauding interrupted him, but it was just as well. He wasn’t sure where his sentence had been going anyway.

“Well done, Jody,” August praised.

“Thank rA9, you finally got to hug the poor man,” Delta snickered.

“Oh shut up,” Jody ribbed back, looking to be in better spirits and less self conscious now. She smiled at Connor. “Well, we, uh, I’ve taken up enough of your time. I just wanted to tell you that, and now I’ve told you that, so…here I go…” She made a gesture as though to take off running.

Connor smirked. “I’m glad you did.”

She giggled and fell out of the gesture. “Okay, well…yeah. Thank you, and, uh, maybe I’ll see you around sometime…Bye Connor.”

“Bye Jody,” he nodded to her and then to her friends. “Delta, August. It was nice to meet you.”

Delta flashed him a peace sign, hooking her arm through Jody’s elbow and walking on with her. “Stay sexy.”

“Jesus Christ—“ Jody smacked herself in the forehead as they walked away.

August actually shook his hand properly with a smile. “It was nice to meet you too.”

Connor watched the trio meander away from him and then looked down at Sumo, exhaling a tight breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Sumo boofed at him, wagging his tail and further disrupting the leaves on the ground behind him.

“You ready to go home?” he asked. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for one walk in the park.”

Sumo climbed to his feet, stretching with his back end in the air before standing beside Connor, ready to go wherever Connor led him. Connor scratched him shortly behind the ears before tugging the leash back toward the sidewalk that curved toward where he’d parked the car.

As he went, he glanced back after the three androids, now far away but still talking animatedly to each other, though the distance swallowed the sound. He paused, then smiled to himself and turned back around, walking Sumo to the car. He took an easier breath, and his stress levels dipped below his own baseline as his system began to re-evaluate his perceived standing with the rest of his kind.

Thousands.

As he loaded Sumo into the back of the car, he took a final look around the park.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a more beautiful afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *screaming* I did it! Ignore the fact that I'm five days late, but I did the thing! Thank you all for boarding the whump train with me, and for being so patient and understanding with my posting schedule. You are all angels, and I adore you. This challenge has generated several ideas for things to bring into my Detroit 07 series, and I am so excited to dig into them.
> 
> That being said, I have gotten comments suggesting that I expand on a few of the chapters posted here, and I had already planned on doing so for a handful of them, specifically "Explosion," "Shackled," and "Isolation." The first two will definitely be followed up on in my prompt series "Camaraderie," and while I do plan on expanding "Isolation," I don't have a concrete plan yet to say when that'll happen.
> 
> If there is another chapter that you'd like to see more of, let me know, and I might revisit it later on :)
> 
> Thank you guys again for reading and leaving kudos and such wonderful comments! It was an absolute blast.


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